


Roger's Calling

by JodyNorman



Series: The Legacy [15]
Category: Poltergeist: The Legacy, The Sentinel
Genre: Gen, Psychic Bond, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-05
Updated: 2014-08-05
Packaged: 2018-02-11 23:19:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2086911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JodyNorman/pseuds/JodyNorman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair is settling in as a member of the Cascade Legacy House, but Jim isn't so sure about the arrangement. Then, a series of strange deaths draws both Major Crimes and The Legacy into the same case, and Blair's the one caught in the crossfire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roger's Calling

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Sensory Overload #9
> 
> Thanks to clgfanfic for her help!

**_Roger's Calling_ **

****

**_by Jody Norman_ **

 

 

 

          "Careful, careful," the older archaeologist warned softly, leaning close over the younger man's shoulder as he slowly brushed away the dirt built up along the side of the cave. One more cautious stroke and the last of the soil fell away, revealing a small alcove that had been dug into the cave wall. It was filled with small clay pots. The dark strokes of writing gleamed across their sides, almost seeming to move as other members of the project crowded in behind the professor.

          "Wow," the graduate student said softly, his eyes wide. A major find like this wasn't something he'd expected to see on his first dig, and given the excited comments coming from those behind him, this might be very important indeed. He grinned, then looked back at the jars, mesmerized by the strokes of the ancient letters he could see on the jars.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Twelve jars," Dr. Toray said in his deliberate fashion. He looked around the group that evening as they sat around the fire in the center of camp. "They look to be in good condition, and the writing on them is legible, although cleaning them off would make it easier."

          "Are they similar to the one Alex and Dr. Rowland found two months ago?" Derian's eager question just beat Tim's, and he exchanged grins with his friend.

          "Yes," Dr. Skort answered, smiling. "They're identical except for the writing on their sides. What's more, these are undamaged, so whatever's inside should be in better condition than the scroll fragment found inside the first jar."

          "I still don't understand how that fragment was in such good condition when the pot was cracked," Alex muttered under his breath, but everyone ignored the post-doc, focused too much on the present excitement to care about a question that had been debated too often around their campfire for several months now.

          "Any idea what's inside these jars?" Greg asked the question somewhat diffidently, but the intense silence that followed his words made it clear that everyone was waiting on the answer.

          Dr. Toray took a pull on his pipe, puffing a few times before lowering it. "No. These jars are sealed."

          "And the writing runs across the seals," Dr. Skort added. She smiled at the frustrated murmur that passed through the group. "Yes, I'm afraid that means that opening them will have to wait on a translation of the writing. Since we might destroy the jars by opening them, we must do the translations first. I'm afraid we would lose the opportunity to study the words if we tried to open them here. In addition, our permissions for this site are about to expire; we don't have the time to open the jars as carefully as we need to."

          There was a quiet exhale as everyone accepted the inevitable. A young woman spoke up. "So, who gets the jars?"

          The two older professors exchanged glances and then looked back at the group, Dr. Toray speaking first. "As there are four universities funding work on this dig, we've decided it was only fair that the jars be divided across them, as evenly as possible. Thus, everyone except Rainier will get three of the thirteen pots, while Rainier, as the principal funding institution, will take four." He raised his voice over the buzz of conversations. "This way, we will _all_ be able to profit from the find, and we can combine our resources as we translate what we have and move on to opening the jars."

          There was some hesitation, but everyone soon agreed on the arrangement, and there was an almost palpable excitement in the air as the students headed off to their tents, eager talk about how they would proceed once they returned to their universities spilling out of the boundaries of the camp and echoing across the still desert sands. And, in the distance, dark clouds began to gather, racing across the face of the half-moon and casting the site into deeper shadow.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Jim! In my office!"

Simon's bark was brusque, but years of experience allowed Detective Jim Ellison to tell that it was nothing more than early morning driving the tone, and he exchanged a grin with Joel as he strode toward Banks' office, angling through the almost empty bullpen with the ease of long practice.

          "Glad you're in early. Have a seat," Simon offered gruffly as the Sentinel entered. "And close the door," he ordered as Jim chose a chair.

Sighing, Ellison stood and moved to close the door, then seated himself again. "What's up, Simon?" he asked, frowning at the man. "I just started the Rivers case, and that's–"

"Cancelled," Banks finished. "Rafe and Brown have it now. I want you on the new one that just came in. You can brief them on the Rivers case later."

Simon's tone eliminated Jim's burgeoning irritation at losing a case he'd just spent two days on and he studied his old friend. "Bad?"

Simon ran a hand over his face, pausing to pinch the bridge of his nose and sighing. "Looks like it. Body was found this morning by an early jogger – lots of blood, weird symbols or writing all around it, and no real clues as to the killer yet. Forensics is still working on the scene." He handed over a folder, which the detective flipped open and perused, pausing to study the preliminary photographs. At the back was another, different photo.

"Is this other picture one of that grad student they found last week? Looks like the same MO," Jim commented with a frown. "I remember that one from the news coverage."

Banks nodded. "Yeah, I'm not surprised; the media was all over that one. The tox screens for both victims showed that they'd been dosed with ketamine before they died." He shook his head. "I hope we don't have a serial on our hands, because this guy looks like a serious nutcase."

"So I see," Ellison commented, his gaze still on the pictures. "Ketamine? Isn't that what the kids are breaking into vets' offices for now? Using it as a date rape drug?"

Simon grimaced and he nodded. "Yeah, it's an anesthesia for animals, and a hot club drug. Damn dangerous with an overdose, too."

Jim nodded and changed the subject. "I don't recognize any of these symbols."

"Neither does anyone else," Simon said sourly. "It might be gibberish, but the crime lab said they thought it looks like some kind of language. I thought you might show the photos to Sandburg, see if he can identify them."

"Sure," Jim said, closing the folder. "I'll see him this evening, so I'll ask him then. He should be in with me tomorrow, too, so that'll help."

"How's he doing?" Simon asked Ellison. "After that crash…" He shook his head. "I've always said that kid has nine lives, but now I think it must be more like twenty."

"Yeah," the detective agreed, his gaze sliding away. "At least."

Banks studied his friend's bunched jaw and shook his head. "It wasn't your fault, Jim. He wasn't even on a case when it happened.   Anyone can be involved in a car crash; God knows there's enough idiots on the road. Let it go."

Ellison grimaced and shook his head. "I know, Simon. It's just–" He sighed, his lips tight. "I wasn't even with him when it happened! What if–?"

"No 'what if's,' Jim," Simon interrupted him. "He's okay; nothing but a few bruises and scratches. Nothing to worry about. It's over."

The Sentinel grimaced. "Yeah, that's what I keep telling myself." He pulled himself to his feet. "I'll get right on this, sir; see what I can find out. And I'll talk to Sandburg about the symbols tonight."

"Take it easy," Banks said, watching his officer leave. "And be careful out there," he advised without raising his voice when Jim paused at his desk before leaving, picking up a file folder and heading for Rafe's and Brown's empty desks on his way out. Ellison dropped the Rivers file on Rafe's desktop and headed to the door, nodding in response without even looking back.

Simon shook his head, unable to fight back a slight shiver even after his years of experience with such actions. The grin that the Sentinel tossed him as he left the bullpen made it clear that his reaction hadn't gone unnoticed, and Banks sighed, then reached to pour himself a second cup of coffee.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Jim winced as the loft door crashed open, letting in a stream of warm, humid air and an exuberant Blair, who dumped his backpack on the sofa and clasped his hands above his head with a broad grin, bouncing on his heels. "I got it!"

          Ellison opened his mouth to remind his partner about the house rules, then shut it again without saying anything. He simply couldn't shut off that dancing light in his friend's eyes, not right now, not even with a mild reminder of limits and regulations. He had come so close to losing it all…

He shut off that thought quickly. "What?" he asked instead, gesturing to the kitchen. "Your supper's on the stove, Chief."

          "Thanks, big guy," Blair said, swinging around and then heading over to the kitchen to retrieve his meal.

          "Thought you weren't going to make supper for a while there," Jim said as the younger man returned to the sofa with his meal, his pace a good deal more sedate as he carried the bowl of spaghetti and a glass of milk. But Sandburg's grin was as enthusiastic as before when he flashed it at the Sentinel, and the detective shook his head, unable to completely control the small smile that tugged at his lips. "What's got you in such an uproar, Sandburg?"

          The post-doc seated himself, setting the glass on a coaster on the long, low coffee table and relaxing back into the cushions. Only a Sentinel could have seen the slight stiffness of the move, and Jim frowned.

          Blair glanced across at him, his smile softening. "It's okay, man, really. I'm just sore, that's all, nothing unusual about that."

          Their gazes held for a moment as Jim tested the truth of the words, then nodded. "So, what happened?" he asked his Guide.

          Blair shrugged, managing to swallow the huge bite of food he'd taken at the same time, then he wiped his lips with a napkin that Ellison studiously handed him. "It's an exhibit," he explained. "About the jars they found on the Holy Land dig." He saw Jim's blank look and rolled his eyes. "Remember the archaeological expedition I told you about back in January, the one that found the thirteen clay jars in Jordan?"

          "Uh, yeah," the detective replied, unwilling to admit that he wasn't too sure he did. The grin Blair flashed him made it clear that the anthropologist wasn't fooled, and he cleared his throat. "What about them?" he asked gruffly.

          "They're doing an exhibit of what was in the jars," the post-doc explained, pausing to eat a few more bites. "It's kind of a way around the budget cuts. Since they split the jars up between the participating universities, holding an exhibition in each of the cities where the universities are located allows all the researchers to combine what they have and talk about it while they make money in each city. They're setting it up here first, since Rainier was the primary funding institution for the dig, so everyone from all the universities involved is gathering to put it together." He looked across at Jim, smiling. "And they pegged me as a member of the committee that will coordinate the research, sets up lab times, stuff like that as the exhibit gets done!"

          Blair saw the dubious look on his friend's face and shrugged. "Hey, man, I'm an adjunct, you know? I work there now, so they assign stuff like this to me. And hey, I think the research is really cool, even if it's not directly involved with my own stuff, and this way I'll be able to hear all the inside take on it all from the ones who were actually at the dig!"

          "Oh," Jim said, nodding. Okay, that made sense. No wonder the younger man was on one of his highs. "That's good, Sandburg; glad it worked out."

          "Thanks, man," Blair said, grinning at him. "At least that's a safe job; no idiots there to sideswipe me, so no need to worry when I'm late for supper."

          Jim flushed and looked away. He'd been trying hard to give Blair his space, not to over-react and drown him by trying to keep him safe at all costs, and he had thought his efforts were smooth enough that he'd slipped them by without being noticed by the younger man. Obviously he'd been wrong.

          "Jim."

          His Guide's voice was serious and Ellison looked back at him.

          "There's nothing wrong with caring, you know," Blair pointed out, his gaze sober and focused on the Sentinel. "Nothing at all. I know what it cost you to keep from trying to wrap me in cotton wool this past week, and it means a lot to me that you didn't go overboard. It means even more that you wanted to, though." He grinned at the man, seeing, Jim knew, the color he could feel rising in his cheeks, and he fought the urge to acknowledge his embarrassment by looking away.

          Blair's smile widened, but he mercifully turned the conversation. "So how did work go? Anything break on the Rivers case yet?"

          Jim shook his head. "Simon took me off that one. There's a murder case that looks like it might be serial, and he put us on that one instead." He explained the details, handing over the folder afterwards. "The pictures are pretty graphic, Chief," he warned as the anthropologist flipped through it.

          "Yeah," Blair said, swallowing as he halted on the photos. "I guess so." He grimaced, then shoved the feelings aside and shifted to the close-up pictures of the symbols inscribed on the sidewalk around the victim. "Huh," he said thoughtfully. "Some of these symbols almost look Babylonian, but I'm not sure. It's not my field," he added at Jim's glance, then grinned at the man's snort. "Hey, man, I don't know every language out there, you know! But I can take this to the House and see what Maggie thinks," he offered, referring to the secret society that had hired him six months before. "The Legacy records are pretty damned extensive; Sean can probably translate this if it is Babylonian, or something related."

          Jim shrugged. "Sure. Just don't tell them about the case; this is police business, nothing they need to be concerned with. Just show them the pictures of the symbols and that's all."

          "Sure," Blair replied dryly, glancing back at the photos. "I'll just show them pictures of symbols on a sidewalk, surrounding a trace of what was obviously a dead body, two different times, crime scene tape flapping in the background, and the news is covering two murders with the same MO on television and radio. They won't make any connections."

          Jim sighed. "Just do your best, Sandburg. I don't want Simon nailing us on sharing police info with an organization that, well, that does whatever the hell it does."

          Blair grinned. "I'll do what I can, Jim, but no guarantees." He looked back at the pictures, his smile fading. "You know what's really weird, I knew both these guys. Not real well," he added at Jim's frown. "Just to speak to them in the halls, that's all. Casual acquaintances, you know? They were both involved with the exhibition, too, but sort of on the fringes, like me. This guy, the first one, was pegged for the committee, too, but his name was crossed off and I got the spot. The second one was one of the grad students who went on the original dig where the jars were found."

          Jim looked at him, frowning, and the anthropologist shook his head. "No way, man, _don't_ go there. They're both grad students at Rainier and they're in my field; there's over a hundred others just like them, and just because a couple of them die doesn't mean there's a plot out to kill all of us, okay?"

          Ellison chuckled in spite of himself, although a tinge of worry remained in his voice. "All right, Sandburg. I'll try not to assume that you're the next victim. Just don't go and prove me wrong."

          "Scout's honor, man," Blair said earnestly, putting his hand over his heart.

          "Chief, you were never in the Scouts."

          "Sure I was, big guy," the younger man objected. "Bearpaw, Montana, when I was… seven, or maybe eight. Naomi was dating the Scoutmaster – she thought it would be good for me to have a good male role model, so I joined the troop. 'Course, it was only a couple of months, but–"

          "Sandburg."

          "Learned a lot of neat things out there, though. Wild West stuff. Did you know that buffalo hunters used to drink the liquid from a buffalo's stomach? They called it buffalo cider and–"

          "Sandburg!" Jim barked, his stomach twisting as he watched Blair pick up his milk glass. "Do you mind?"

          "Huh?" The anthropologist blinked at him, then followed his glare to the glass and grinned. "Does the big, tough cop have an issue with talking about stuff like this at supper?"

          Ellison's eyes narrowed. "Do you really want to be typing reports for the next month, Sandburg?"

          "No," Blair said quickly, unable to halt the small grin pulling at his lips. "Of course not. I just thought you'd like to hear all the authentic stuff about my time in the Scouts."

          "Sandburg."

          "Yeah, Jim?"

          "Shut up."

          "Sure, Jim. You know, I even ran into a wolf out there once. It came right up to me."

          Jim sighed and rolled his eyes. Only Sandburg.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          _A member of the Legacy_ , Blair mused as he neared the Cascade Legacy House, the winding, two lane road almost deserted in the mid-morning sunlight. _Six months and I'm still not used to it. **[1]** Talk about bizarre_. Although why he should think that working for an ancient secret society dedicated to fighting "the shadows and the night," as Derek Rayne had described it, was any less bizarre than working as Guide to Jim's Sentinel, or as shaman of the city of Cascade, he wasn't sure. _The grass is always weirder on the other side of the fence, I guess_ , he thought as he turned in through the large stone archway set over the entrance to the lush grounds of the House, feeling the protective wards sweep over him as he crossed through them.

          He shook his head as he parked the car in his accustomed spot in front of the enormous two-story house, climbing the wide stone steps and padding into the House without really thinking about his movements. This was the first time he'd actually brought anything from his own life with Jim to the House, and he was a little surprised to notice the small butterflies circling in his stomach as he headed to the library, which was one of Maggie's favorite haunts when they weren't on an active case. He waved to Mrs. MacRae, the housekeeper, as he passed her.

          Blair paused in the doorway of the large library, unable to avoid the appreciative study of it. Three full walls were taken up by dark-wood bookcases, while the fourth was filled floor to ceiling with windows that looked out over the gardens to the tall stone fence that surrounded the grounds, and beyond that to the city of Cascade.

          Turning his gaze back to the room, he located his precept curled up with a book in one of the overstuffed chairs that were arranged around the raised, circular fireplace that dominated the center of the room. He paused, unable to stifle the smile that rose through him at the sight of the older woman that he automatically trusted and liked. Maggie Cartwright's auburn hair gleamed in the sunlight falling through the windows, and even at a distance he could see the muscles corded in her arms and shoulders. She was a small woman, only slightly taller than five feet, but what she lacked in height she more than made up for in presence, and now Blair found himself relaxing into the calm certainty that she radiated as she looked up to spot him, her green eyes warm with the smile she gave him. _I'd sure never know she was close to fifty_ , he thought wryly as she beckoned to him.

          But then, he was still new to the House and the Legacy, and the team was still working out its dynamics. And since he didn't live in the House, he missed a lot of the small details of their lives. _One day, though_ , he thought as he crossed the carpet to halt by her chair.

          "Blair," Maggie greeted warmly, uncurling from the chair to stand up. "I thought you'd be in tomorrow; isn't today your day with Jim?"

          Blair nodded. "Yeah, but today I'm here on police business, actually. I wanted to show you some pictures, see if you can identify some symbols for us."

          "Show me," Maggie said, gesturing to a nearby table, on which the anthropologist laid the folder and opened it, laying the pictures out across the surface. The photographs were the close-up shots of the symbols at both crime scenes, and one wide-angle view of each scene. The chalked diagrams of the bodies were graphic against the scribbled marks, but at least the bodies themselves had been removed.

          The Legacy precept studied the photographs for a few silent moments, not touching them. "It might be a language, I'm not sure, but this symbol in particular," she gestured to one of the close-ups, "looks familiar." She gestured at one of the close-ups before glancing up at Blair. "So, Jim's working on these murders?"

          Blair shifted uneasily. "I'm not supposed to say anything about where these come from, Maggie."

          She quirked a smile at him. "Then I won't ask you to break that promise." She glanced back at the photos, her smile dying. Then, deliberately, she reached out to touch one of the wide-scan pictures. Her eyes widened and she sucked in a breath and drew her fingers back, shaking her head to clear it.

          Blair watched her in silence, his stomach tightening. If Maggie had Seen something, then this case was just about to get a whole lot more complicated for him and for Jim.

          The look she turned on him was sober. "This isn't over, Blair. Someone else is going to die, and soon. Take these in to Sean, see what he can dig up on the origins of the symbols."

          When she spoke in that tone, Blair knew that she spoke as his precept, and he nodded, gathering up the photos. He turned then to leave the room and head upstairs to the lab. _Jim's so going to not like this_, he thought as he climbed the wide staircase to the second floor. _It's starting to be Legacy business, and he's never had to deal with sharing a case with them before._

 _With us_ , he corrected himself wryly as he reached the top and started toward the lab where Sean probably was. _I'm part of the Legacy now, and in some way, so is Jim. But until he really accepts that, this kind of thing is going to be uncomfortable_.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Yeah, it looks Babylonian," Sean said casually, glancing over the photos. "But I can't tell you much more than that without more research, and right now I'm working on something. I can get to it tomorrow… probably."

          Blair inhaled, trying not to let his anger force him into saying something he'd regret. Why Sean had a problem with him was something he hadn't figured out in the six months the team had been together, although he had his theories. But the younger man was consistently dismissive of him and his work, and this was just another example of the more-than-annoying attitude.

"It's important, Sean," he said, wishing that another member of the team was in the lab just then; that always seemed to push Sean to be more civil. Damn it, he didn't want to bring Maggie into this more than he already had, and he sure didn't want to have to fetch her like a teenager who needed help getting his brother to do something. _I hate feeling like I'm dealing with a younger brother I have to impress with my authority!_

          Sean flashed him a grin and Blair spent a brief moment wishing that the two of them had connected like he thought they could have as the two youngest members of the House.

"Yeah, I'm sure it is." _To you_. The unspoken end of the sentence hung between them for a long moment until it was broken by a quiet hiss as the wall behind them slid open, and they both glanced around to see Maggie enter.

          "So, what do you think, Sean?" she asked calmly. "Will finding information on these symbols be difficult?"

          "Uh, no," Sean said, turning back to type furiously on the keyboard, his screens vanishing and two more popping up in their place. "I think it'll be do-able; I should have something soon."

          "Good," she said with a smile, patting him on the shoulder. "I think this is going to be important, and I know it's dangerous. As of now, it's the top priority on our docket."

          "Yes, ma'am," Sean answered, fully focused on the scrolling information that he was perusing.

          Blair backed away, trying to relax without being obvious about it, although he had a feeling that Maggie had seen everything there was to see when she'd entered the lab, and had understood it perfectly.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "So those are them, huh?" Blair asked, studying the thirteen clay jars sitting in orderly if uneven rows on the lab table. "Pretty cool stuff," he added, trying not to glance at the clock. He only had a little more than half an hour before he was scheduled to meet Jim for lunch, and the rest of the day would be police work. He had really needed to talk to someone at the university today about the exhibit schedule, but he definitely didn't need to be late to lunch.

          Alex grinned. "You got that right. Everyone's really excited."

          "So, every jar had a different piece of the same scroll?" Blair asked him curiously, moving over to look down at a small scrap of vellum imprisoned between two plates of glass. "This one of them?"

          "Yep," Alex answered, moving over to stand next to him. "That one's mine." He shrugged at the older anthropologist's glance. "It's the one we found first, I mean. It was in my plot, so I feel kind of possessive about it. Funny thing, though; even though the jar was cracked, the vellum was pretty well preserved, as you can see."

          "Wow, it is," the Guide said, staring at the scrap of scroll. "I really would've expected something this fragile to fall apart if the jar was cracked."

          "Yeah, I know," the other man agreed, shaking his head. "I don't get it, either. But at least it'll make it easier to match it up with the rest." Stepping over to another table where more of the scroll fragments were lying under glass, he scowled.

          "What's wrong?" Blair asked, cocking his head at the blond. "Problems with the translation?

          "You could say that," Alex said, sighing. "See, every piece of the scroll was cut right in the middle of one or more important words, and the translation of every piece depends on those particular words. It looks like the pieces should be easy to match up, but no one could match the pictures of the pieces. The only thing that the experts can agree on is that the scroll is talking about Babylonia and a single, powerful god."

          Sandburg whistled. "Oh, wow, man. That's exciting. Can they tell if it's the Hebrew God or Zoriasterism, or something else?"

          Alex shook his head. "No one can tell, because it all hinges on the translation, and that's not going well at all. Maybe there are some missing fragments, but I just don't think so. And to make things even more interesting, what we have here seems to be sprinkled with either prophetic visions or dire warnings, but we can't tell which they are, because–"

          "The translations all hinge on those key words that are cut in half," Blair finished, nodding in sympathy. "What a mess. No wonder everyone wanted to bring the pieces together so they could work on it in person. Virtual images just don't cut it sometimes." _Maggie isn't going to like this; it's beginning to sound suspiciously weird, like maybe it needs to be Legacy business from this end of things, too._

          "You said it," Alex said, moving back to stare at the jars. "Sometimes you've just got to do things the old-fashioned way. Dr. Toray thinks the writing on the outside of the jars might be our missing text. I hope he's right."

          "Yeah," Sandburg agreed. "And speaking old-fashioned, it's let's talk time." Choosing a clear patch on the table, Blair laid the binder he held down and opened it to a well-scribbled page. "Coordinating the labs shouldn't be too hard, but let me run this schedule past you and see what you think."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Blair leaned back in his chair, bracing it against the wall as he watched the doorway of the small café for Jim's entrance. The hum of the lunchtime crowd was busy around him, but he ignored it with the ease of long practice, thinking over what Maggie had told him when he'd called her after leaving Alex earlier.

          _Jim isn't going to be happy with this info_ , he thought wryly. _Death cults, Babylonian symbols, and more murders in the making. And the Legacy involved. And me. No, he's not going to be happy, at all_. He raised his hand to catch Jim's attention as the Sentinel stepped through the door and paused to scan the crowd.

          "Over here, big guy," Blair said quietly, although he knew the man had probably already identified his heartbeat. Warmed by the smile Jim gave him as the detective started toward the table, he returned it, bracing himself inwardly for the conversation to come and hoping that the Sentinel couldn't sense his tension. That hope was dashed by the quizzical look Ellison gave him as he halted at the table. Sandburg tried not to sigh.

          "What's up, Chief?" Jim studied him with a frown, a line gathering between his brows.

          "Well, I've got good news, bad news and news-news," Blair said, bringing his chair down on all four legs. "Can we leave it until after we get lunch, though? I'm starved."

          "Sure," Ellison agreed, studying him. "I'll get in line," he offered. "You want your usual?"

          "Yep," Blair said and nodded. "Miss my chili? No way!"

          Jim rolled his eyes and turned toward the end of the line. "Whatever you say, Sandburg."

          Blair grinned and leaned his chair back again, his smile widening at the scowl the Sentinel sent him from across the room at his movement.

          "All right," Jim said a few minutes later, setting the bowl of chili down before his younger friend and seating himself. "What's the news?"

          Dipping his spoon into the chili and licking it off, Blair blinked at him, savoring the tangy taste. "Uh, well, you mean the news-news, right? Not the bad news or the good news?"

          The detective inhaled, held it, and then sighed it out as he carefully dug into his own chili. "Yeah, Sandburg, I figure I'd better hear the middle of the road before I ask you for the sides. What news?"

          "Ah," the anthropologist said and nodded. "Well, uh, the news-news is that Maggie guessed what you're working on and put the Legacy to work on it, too."

          Jim regarded him through narrowed eyes. "What's the _bad_ news?"

          Blair swallowed, then looked at him soberly. "Maggie says there's going to be another murder."

          The detective pushed his spoon through his chili for a long moment and then looked up. "I take it that means she had a… vision."

          "Yeah."

          "And I'm supposed to believe this, right?" Ellison snapped, glaring at the younger man.

          Blair shrugged. "Hey, man, you believe in mine, why not hers?"

          "That's different," Jim gritted. "You're my partner, my Guide. You have a proven track record." Sandburg was silent and he grimaced. "All right, tell me the _good_ news."

          "Sean was able to find references for most of the symbols. He's still working on the rest, but he's got enough to get the gist." The anthropologist hesitated, then continued at Ellison's stare. "They're related to a death cult. The symbols are Babylonian, but he's not sure he can dig up more than that; seems that even the Legacy records don't have much on this particular cult."

          The detective was quiet for a long moment and Blair made the most of the silence, working his way through his chili even though he could feel his friend's unease curling in his own gut.

          "Damn it, Sandburg, did I, or did I not say that they weren't to know about this case? They're not involved in this!"

          The comment brought Blair's head up and he braced himself. _Here it comes_. "They're involved now, Jim."

          Ellison glared at him. "We don't need them."

          The anthropologist shrugged. "It doesn't work like that. The Legacy gets involved when it needs to be involved." _What he really means is that he doesn't like me being a part of this – of them._

          If anything, the Sentinel's scowl deepened. "I don't like it."

          Blair didn't reply, just focused on cleaning up his bowl. One thing was for sure; the rest of the afternoon wasn't going to be fun, not with Jim in this mood.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Five hours later, Blair lowered himself onto the sofa in the loft, setting his teeth as the sore muscles that had ached all afternoon made themselves known. He had forgotten that he hadn't spent time in Jim's truck since the accident, and his blithe decision to skip his pills today had only exacerbated the situation. Now his body hurt and his head ached. He leaned back, closing his eyes.

          He must have dozed off, because he woke up to the delightful sensation of strong fingers rubbing soothingly through his hair. He was lying down on the sofa, his head in Jim's lap. He tensed, wariness running through him. He felt the Sentinel's pained sigh and hesitated, then yielded to the determination in the hands that held him against his automatic movement.

Relaxing into the relaxing feelings, he knew Jim loosened up, too, felt the unspoken tenderness in the fingers that softly rubbed away his headache before moving on to other muscles. The apology didn't need words, and he smiled a little, snuggling into the touch.

          Then his cell phone rang, and Blair jerked, hearing the Sentinel's low curse. "I guess you have to get that," Ellison muttered, and Blair heard the question in the tone.

          "'Fraid so," he mumbled, not opening his eyes as the phone was placed in his hand. "H'lo."

          There was a split second of silence as he registered the fact that the caller was Maggie – although how he knew that he wasn't sure – and what was likely coming across to her through her abilities.

          "Blair," she said calmly, nothing in her voice giving away that perception, if she had one at all. "There's been another murder."

          The anthropologist pushed himself up to a seated position, only dimly registering Jim's help. "Where?" he asked her, noticing the Sentinel's grim expression as he braced himself against the man's shoulder.

          "It's in Randolph Park, on the north side," she answered. "Jim will be getting a call very soon."

          As if on cue, the loft phone rang and Jim gently shoved Blair off his shoulder and stood to grab it.

          "Blair," Maggie said, interrupting the anthropologist's attempt to listen to Jim's side of the conversation, "I want Sean to see the crime scene. He's already left to join you there."

          "All right, I'll do what I can," the young Legacy member answered obediently before it occurred to him to wonder _how_ he was going to get Jim to agree.

          "Try hard, it's important," she said briskly. "I'll expect to hear from you about it tomorrow." And she was gone.

          Blair thumbed off the cellphone and set it down, frowning as he turned to see Ellison hang up.

"Come on, Chief," Jim said briefly, tossing the anthropologist's coat at him. "Let's go."

          "She was right, wasn't she?" Blair asked as he followed the detective out of the loft, shrugging on his coat as he did.

          "Yep," Jim answered as he held the door for him, then cut in front and led the way to the outside stairway. "North side of Randolph Park. Seems they've got the perp this time, though."

          "What?" the younger man questioned as he followed the Sentinel down the outside stairs. "They caught him?"

          "In the act, from the sounds of it," Ellison answered as he stepped over to the driver's side door of his truck and opened it, climbing in.

          "Not soon enough to help the poor guy who got nailed, though, I take it," the anthropologist commented as he opened the door and slid in beside the detective, reaching for the seatbelt and pulling it home as Jim started the truck.

          "Nope," the older man said briefly as he swung out of the parking lot, clicking his own seatbelt into place as he did so.

          "Man, I hate it when you do that," Blair commented, holding onto his seat as the officer swerved around a corner. "How'd they catch the guy?" he asked when Jim didn't respond to the often-heard complaint.

          Ellison shrugged, not taking his gaze off the road. "Seems an off-duty cop saw a light where he didn't think there should be one and checked it out, then called it in when he saw the guy. He had him down and handcuffed when backup got there. Sounds like the guy's a regular nutcase, too. He was ranting and moaning and kept trying to scribble more of those symbols."

          "Oh," Blair answered, not sure why the description forced a shiver down his back. "Uh, Jim, Maggie wants Sean to see the crime scene."

          "No." The Guide's answering silence made Jim glance over at him. "Damn it, Sandburg, I said no!"

          "Did I say anything?" Blair protested. "I know what you said."

          "He's not a cop!"

          "Neither am I," the anthropologist returned quietly.

          "You're different."

          "Not that different," Blair said softly. "He's Legacy, Jim."

          "Sandburg–"

          "Jim, I know you don't like it. And I know you don't like it that I'm part of the Legacy, too. But I am."

          "I never said that," Ellison said gruffly, not looking at him as he took another corner.

          "You didn't have to," Blair said evenly. "It doesn't make me any less your Guide, or your partner, or your friend. What we have is ours. But this is mine, too."

          Jim was silent for a long moment, finally pulling into a parking lot filled with police cars and flashing lights. He stopped and set the brake, halting before turning the key to cut the motor. "I know it is, Chief."

He didn't look at the younger man, and Blair sighed. "Trust us, big guy. Trust me."

Jim turned the key and pulled it out, opening the door to step out of the truck. "I'm trying, Blair."

The comment was low, but the anthropologist nodded as he stepped out of the car after his friend. "I know you are. And I know it's not easy, either." There was no sign that the Sentinel had heard him, but Blair felt the acknowledgment in his gut and grinned as he headed toward the crime scene, not even noticing how the uniformed officers stepped aside for him as he ducked under the tape.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Jim caught up with his Guide a few minutes later, glad to see that Blair hadn't made it to the body yet, but wincing inwardly at his friend's wide, horrified eyes as the anthropologist stood still, gaze fastened on the young man who rocked back and forth on the sidewalk ahead, oblivious to the police officers trying to urge him toward the waiting car. Blood splattered his clothes and face, and his hands were red.

          "No, no," he moaned. "No, Roger says… Roger… Not finished, not finished… Never go back… find her…"

The man's voice broke and Blair looked away, swallowing hard. "My God."

Jim put his hand on Sandburg's shoulder, wishing he could banish the man's words as easily. "He's nuts, Sandburg. Probably high on something."

Blair shifted his gaze to his Sentinel. "Yeah, but man, I didn't expect _this_ kind of nuts. I mean, he's suffering in there!" He shook his head, turning away from both the detective and the man. "I guess I kind of figured he'd be catatonic, or something like that, you know? Not like this."

"Never go home… Roger… Never see her… Gone…"

Jim swallowed, a little surprised to find his own throat tighten as the grief-stricken words echoed across the space between them and the man. "I know, Chief. I know. Come on, we've got a job to do." He urged the anthropologist off toward the body, hoping that the coroner was close to finishing his job, and was rewarded by seeing a technician zip the body bag closed as they approached.

Blair let out a muffled expletive as the bag closed, then stepped decisively over to the men about to lift it and halted them, bending to pull the zipper back down.

Jim caught up with him then, putting his hand on top of Blair's before the younger man finished the move. "Uh, Chief, I don't think this is a good idea."

"I know him," the anthropologist said curtly. "I think so, anyway." He grasped the zipper again and Jim nodded at the techs who held the bag still.

Blair pulled the zipper down and looked down at the features, tense in death.

Jim saw his Guide's jaw muscles cord and reached over to zip the bag up again. He nodded to the men and put a hand on his Guide's shoulder, pushing him off to the side under a tree.

Blair closed his eyes and leaned back against the trunk, pale.

But even through the shock, Jim could feel Sandburg thinking, and he put his hand on his partner's shoulder.

The anthropologist opened his eyes, staring past Jim into the crowd of reporters and others who stood outside the tape, then brought his gaze back to his friend's face. "I do know him," he said quietly. "Brian Kazinsky." He took a breath, then added, "He's on – was on – my committee."

Ellison stared at Blair for a long moment, cold fear trickling down his spine. "Your committee? The same one as the other two victims?"

The anthropologist took a breath and nodded. "Yeah."

Jim's jaw muscles bunched, but he remained silent for a time. "Let's go look at the symbols," he said at last, his voice tight.

"Sure, if Forensic is finished," Blair added, trying to sound normal, although the Sentinel could hear the strain in his voice.

They were, although the two CSI's were only just leaving the scene when the pair reached it. "It's all yours, Ellison," the woman commented as she passed him. "Pretty messy, though," she added, glancing at Blair.

"He's fine," Jim said shortly, which earned him a glance from both the woman and Blair before she shrugged and followed her partner, saying, "Suit yourself, but you've been warned."

"She's right about one thing," the detective said, cutting off Blair's comment. "This is going to be messy, Chief. Remember all the blood on the perp? You sure you're ready for this?"

Blair nodded, visibly bracing himself as they approached the roof-covered picnic area, pausing at the edge to look across the concrete-floored expanse.

A large pool of blood glistened in the center of the area, blurring the edges of the drawing that depicted the victim's position. The flashing lights from the nearby parking lot reflected in the ooze, and obviously hand-drawn symbols surrounded it on three sides. They gleamed in the light, and Jim heard Blair swallow.

"I didn't realize– The symbols were drawn in blood?"

Ellison looked down at him sympathetically. "Yeah. I'm sorry. I thought you knew. That's why the victims all had their throats cut – they bled out and the perp used that to make his pictures."

"God," Blair said tightly. "That's so gross, man." He swallowed again, then looked around. "By the way, where's Sean?"

Jim jerked his head toward the crowd, and the anthropologist looked in that direction, finding Sean standing on the outside of the tape, the officers working around him obviously not allowing him entry into the scene. But from his location Sean could still see both the madman and some part of the crime scene itself, and Blair studied him, seeing the younger man's tight expression, pale face, and taut body. He glanced up at the Sentinel, reading Jim's set expression without difficulty. He sighed. "Come on, man, let him in."

"He's a civilian, Sandburg. Simon would have my hide for letting him in. He can see well enough from where he is."

Blair watched Sean shift from foot to foot, glancing from the madman that the officers were now urging past him to the crime scene and back. He saw Blair looking at him and scowled, albeit not as fiercely as the Guide would have expected, and Blair looked up at the detective.

"I said no, Sandburg." Blair was silent, and Jim glared at him. "He doesn't even like you. And you don't like him. Why push him in my face?"

The anthropologist sighed. "It's not about my liking him or not, Jim. Or about him liking me. All of us have a job to do here. Mine's with you, but I can tell without asking that all you can smell is blood and fear – right?"

Jim nodded, resigned. "There's nothing for me here, Chief. Just like the last two times."

Blair nodded. "But I also report to the Legacy. And so does he. Let him in, Jim. Please," he added at the Sentinel's scowl. "If it gives us something else to crack the case with, how can that hurt? He is an expert on these symbols, and you're not likely to find another one."

Ellison grimaced. "All right, Chief. This time." He motioned to Rafe, who stood close by Sean, and the other officer nodded and gestured to the young linguist, who stared at him for a moment, then started toward Jim and Blair.

"I can tell you this, he's pretty shaken up," the Sentinel commented as they watched the young man approach, his gaze fastened on them and carefully avoiding the crime scene. Or so it seemed to Blair, who thought he recognized the walk as the one he himself had used for a while, a pace that allowed tight control over a body he hadn't been sure he could control at times.

"Yeah, I thought so, too," he answered quietly as the linguist neared them.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Well, Chief, that wraps it up," Jim said, smiling as he waved Blair into the truck. "With the perp in custody, we can go home and relax."

          Blair watched Sean as the linguist marched toward his own car, ignoring Sandburg as if he weren't there. Sighing silently, the anthropologist swung the truck door open and climbed in, slamming it and wearily fastening his seatbelt as the Sentinel turned the key, the engine rumbling to life.

"I don't think so, Jim," he said, the words cutting into his partner's ramble about plans for the upcoming weekend.

          "Don't think what?" the Sentinel asked as he turned into traffic, speeding up as he turned toward a nearby freeway ramp.

          Blair studied Jim, then shrugged. "I don't think it's over. I've got a bad feeling about what Maggie said when she described her vision, and–"

          Ellison snorted. "It was a _vision_ , Sandburg. _One_ vision. Not a quartet of visions, or a string, or anything else. One vision. That's all. We caught the perp in the act; it's done."

          The Guide sighed, not trying to hide the annoyance in the sound. "Listen to yourself, man! You sound exactly like Simon when he discounts what I can do. You don't have a problem when I tell you something isn't over; why is it any different when Maggie does?"

          Jim shrugged, not taking his gaze from the freeway. "We've been through this, Sandburg. You're my partner. She's not."

          Blair inhaled and held it, trying not to snap back at the man. "That doesn't make her wrong, Jim."

          The Sentinel shrugged again and Blair closed his eyes and leaned back against the seat. There was no point in continuing the conversation when Jim got into these moods; it was like talking to a brick wall.

 _Damn it all_ , he thought tiredly. _When's he going to realize that relegating the Legacy to the back room is doing the same thing to me?_

          _Simple_ , he answered himself. _When he's not afraid that sharing me means losing me._

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Blair seated himself at the table, glancing appreciatively around the library as Sean and Maggie slid into chairs as well. Early morning sunlight laid bars of brightness across the floor and Blair's gaze slipped through the window siding the table, enjoying the drifting motes of sun that fell through the trees just outside.

          "So, how did last night go?" Maggie asked them, and Blair jerked his attention back to the matter at hand.

          Sean scowled at Blair. "Well, once I could get in, it went okay. I got more shots of the crime scene and the symbols; the computer is working on them now."

          Maggie ignored the tone and looked at the anthropologist. "Blair?"

          The anthropologist grimaced. "I don't think it's good." He shrugged, glancing at both Maggie and Sean, who looked concerned in spite of himself. "For one thing, the police are convinced they've caught the killer and the case is closed."

          Sean snorted. "Typically stupid."

          Something snapped in Blair and he turned on the younger man. "It's not stupid from their point of view. To them it makes sense, and I can't blame them. They caught the guy red-handed!"

          Sean blinked, caught off guard, and before he could recover Maggie cut in, her voice calm. "I take it this means that Jim is convinced it's over as well?"

          Blair took a deep breath, grounding himself again and answered quietly. "I'm afraid so. Since the guy was caught in the act of committing the murder, everyone's assuming he's responsible for the other two as well. I mean, how many nut cases could there be out there? It's over as far as they're concerned."

          "But you don't believe it."

          The shaman looked at the older woman. "No, I don't. I don't like the… vibe. And I believe you when you said it wasn't over yet. There's too many connections for it to be over, too many things that don't make sense, yet."

          "Such as?"

          Blair took a breath and shrugged. "Like the fact that the murderer and all three victims were involved with this exhibition we're getting ready to host at Rainier. It can't be coincidence that the symbols found around the victims are the same language found on the pieces of the scroll we're showing. And I don't think it's chance that the people working on translating the fragments can't agree what it says, or that the translations depend completely on key words that have been cut in the middle and can't be matched up with any other pieces."

          "Hey, wait a minute, back up," Sean interrupted, the words clean of any of the sullen anger that usually clouded his tone. "Say again?"

          Blair nodded and explained what he'd learned about the scroll and its translation from Alex.

When he was done, Sean shook his head and looked at Maggie. "This isn't good, is it?" he asked, and for a moment Blair saw the young man that he thought he could connect with and sighed, wishing he knew a way to further that connection.

          Maggie shook her head. "No, Sean, it's not." She glanced over at the anthropologist. "Blair, I want you to be very careful out there; whoever or whatever is behind this is obviously targeting those connected to the exhibition, and you're clearly one of that group."

          The anthropologist sighed. "I'll be careful, Maggie. But I've got at least one advantage the others don't, and that's bound to help."

          "What's that?" Sean asked him, and Blair tried not to grimace at the edge that had returned to his words.

          "Jim," he answered simply.

          "Oh, yeah," Sean answered sourly, "a cop who doesn't even believe you're in danger. Some help that'll be."

          Blair opened his mouth to respond, then closed it again as the words penetrated. Sean had actually admitted that the shaman was in danger, and that in itself was a greater admission than he'd expected to hear any time soon, even with the other man's obvious dislike of Jim. He shrugged and answered more openly than he had at first meant to. "Whether or not he believes me, he'll know if something happens to me, and that's worth a lot."

          Sean blinked at him, surprised, and started to reply but he cut it off and shrugged. "Well, that's something," he said, and Blair saw Maggie's mouth twitch.

          "A great gift," she said firmly. "Although I sincerely hope it's not one we have to depend on. You left out your other advantage, Blair; you're one of this House and we stand together against the forces of darkness and shadow. You don't stand alone with Jim against the night. Not any more."

          Blair looked down, swallowing against the swift warmth rising through him, and nodded. "I'd better go," he said after clearing his throat. "I've got to meet with the exhibition committee and teach my class afterward. I'll be back tomorrow to check in."

          "All right," Maggie answered, pushing her chair back, a move matched by the two men. "We'll see you then. But if you come across anything else, call me. Understood?"

          Blair nodded, and after a quick glance at Sean, who was studying the grain of the table, he turned and headed out of the room at a quick, steady pace.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "You know, Jim, I've been thinking about the ketamine connection," Blair said thoughtfully, accepting the bowl of spaghetti from the Sentinel and ignoring the other man's faint sigh.

          "What about it?" he questioned, his tone neutral as he seated himself in his chair in the living room.

          "Well," Blair continued, pausing to twirl the pasta around his fork and suck in the ends, "ketamine use generally goes hand in hand with other drug use, right?"

          Jim shrugged. "I guess. There are a number of club drugs out there now."

          "Uh-huh," the anthropologist said as he nodded. "Well, I know for a fact that one of the grad students on the committee with me hosts raves."

          "So?"

          Blair rolled his eyes. "So, raves typically have a lot of drug use going on, and this guy does them – often. So, how much do you want to bet that he's able to get hold of ketamine pretty easily? And he knew the victims, and the murderer."

          "So did you," Ellison pointed out, setting his bowl in his lap and pointing at the Guide. "But I'm not arresting you for that. Besides, I seem to remember you doing some raves, too, sometimes; that better not mean you used drugs, Sandburg."

          "Hey, man," the shaman answered, trying hard to keep the annoyance out of his voice, "it's part of the college scene. No big deal. And I probably know more about drugs and their uses – and what abuse of them means – than most people; Naomi was very careful to educate me on the subject."

          _Given how much of that kind of stuff she probably did when you were young, I'm not surprised_ , Jim thought, but he kept the comment to himself.

          Blair set his bowl down on the table, the move careful, controlled. He didn't often catch Jim's thoughts that clearly, but the bond they shared was sometimes fickle and it seemed that such sharing occurred as much when there was tension between them as when they were close. "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that," he said softly.

          Jim looked surprised and grimaced, but he didn't reply.

Blair sighed. "Look, I think the guy might know more about the ketamine use, that's all," he said. "He might be worth looking at."

          "For what?" Ellison asked, and Blair could hear him trying to tone down the edge in his voice, too. "The case is closed, Sandburg. The guy who did it is in a cell – a very padded cell – and he's not likely to get out any time soon. This grad student of yours might be his supplier, but I'm on a murder/rape case that's got a much higher priority than going after a kid who might or might not be handing out ketamine, in a case that's as dead as the people killed."

          "It's not over yet, Jim," Blair said doggedly, trying hard not to let the burgeoning anger inside him spill over into his words. "And it's not going to be over, either, no matter how many times you tell me it is."

          "Damn it, Sandburg!" Jim snarled, putting his bowl down with more force than necessary. "Let it go! What's wrong with getting back to normal around here?"

          Blair stood with a jerk. "Normal to you means the Legacy out of sight where you want it. And me, too." And scooping up his almost-full bowl from the table, he stalked back to the kitchen, where he set the bowl down and, turning on his heel, strode into his room, closing the door forcefully behind him.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Blair eyed the two men guarding the entrance to the building and faded back into the crowd trickling past them, calling on skills he'd learned long ago to not just join the people around him but to become one of them. It didn't take much effort; after all, this was a college student crowd, and that mindset was one very close to his inner self. Dressed in jeans and casual T-shirt, with his hair loose, he didn't garner a second glance from the bouncers, and he swept past them with ease, deliberately thinking only of sharing a night with other kids like himself, free of studies and deadlines and papers, with some dancing ahead and the possibility of getting high later on.

          _Jim would be appalled if he knew how easy it is for me to do this_ , he thought, then cut the thought off. This wasn't the place to think about the Sentinel, or his own place by the man's side, or how angry said Sentinel would be about this venture. Hopefully Ellison wouldn't pick up on where he was through their link; he had seemed pretty involved in looking over some paperwork he'd brought home when Blair had left the loft earlier on the pretense of meeting a colleague on campus. He forced the wayward thoughts away, focusing on the moment, making it alive and real inside his mind, driving out the shadowy presence in his thoughts.

          Inside the building, he edged to a wall, trying not to cringe against the heavy music that throbbed through the room. He could feel the beat in the wall he leaned against, and straightened, standing away from it while he found his bearings. The room was as large and dimly lit as he would have expected a somewhat renovated warehouse to look like, and he looked around, eventually finding the man he'd followed here, although he had to move quickly to keep Kevin Stockholm in sight as the graduate student wandered through the crowd. He paused soon, then sidled up to a young woman and engaged her in conversation. Blair shook his head, grimacing as he recognized the woman as Alice Barnes, another graduate student on the exhibition committee.

 _Great. That makes both her and Kevin suspect. Or does everyone come here but me?_ He had a hard time believing that; most grad students didn't have either the time or the inclination to travel the party circuit, even on an irregular basis. Or the money.

          Alice shook her head as Kevin nodded toward a door leading deeper into the building. Kevin shrugged, then gestured toward the makeshift bar in a nearby corner, and she nodded. Kevin smiled and headed toward the bar. Blair followed him, closing the distance between them, secure in the knowledge that most people didn't see anything around themselves that they didn't expect to see. And Kevin certainly wouldn't expect to see Blair Sandburg, adjunct to the Anthropology Department and liaison to the police, at a party in the old warehouse section of Cascade.

          Blair watched Kevin accept two drinks from the bartender, then wait until the busy man turned to serve another customer. The graduate student carefully took a vial from his pocket and surreptitiously opened it, pouring the contents into one of the two drinks. Tossing the empty container into a nearby trashcan, he headed back to his date, never glancing at Blair as he passed him.

Blair grimaced, then moved over to the trashcan and reached for the vial.

          "Hey, mister!"

          A heavy hand on his shoulder wrenched him around, and Blair jerked in startled reflex, looking up to find three younger men crowding him. _Uh oh_ , he thought and tried to back away. But the strangers were having none of it.

          "I don't like you," one of them slurred. He was dark-haired and with a slight Hispanic accent to his words. The music swelled under his statement and he had to raise his voice slightly. "Lew, what do you think?" He glanced at the man who still held Blair's shoulder.

          "I don't like him either," the blond agreed, his fingers digging into the anthropologist's arm. He smiled, and Blair swallowed with a suddenly dry throat. He had seen that particular smile once too often on the faces of those in the streets with Jim to take it lightly. This was trouble, perhaps bad trouble.

          "Let's do him," the third man said eagerly, his words just barely audible over the heavy beat of the band, and Blair swallowed again, catching a glimpse of Kevin leading Alice through the door she had refused earlier.

Where the hell were those bouncers when you needed them? No one else would interfere, and even from a short distance away this might look like a meeting of friends. Even the bartender might be fooled, and he was down at the other end of the bar anyway.

          _Damn it, how do I get into these situations?_ Blair wondered, not for the first time. _Jim's going to kill me if I get hurt here, particularly when he doesn't know where 'here' is_.

          "Come on," the blond said, still smiling as he tugged Blair forward, then pushed him toward one of the exits. "Outside."

          The other two closed in around him, and Blair exploded into action, twisting out of the harsh grip on his shoulder and driving an elbow into the man's gut on his other side. The next few minutes were a blur, and he came out of it to find himself being held with his elbows locked behind him. The grip was that of an expert, and Blair tried to relax into it as much as possible, careful not to struggle. Glancing around, he blinked as he met the stares of the crowd, all of whom were now staring at him. The music had stopped, and the overhead lights winked on. To his left he could see two of the men who had accosted him held in grips similar to his own by men wearing security T-shirts, and he smiled.

          "Now, you're going to behave, aren't you?" asked a deep voice in his ear, and Blair nodded.

          "No problem," he said, standing straighter as the grip eased and glancing around. "I was just–"

          "Toss them out." The voice was decisive but with a certain easy drawl to it, and he turned in time to catch an older, fair-haired man exchanging glances with the blond, who smiled over at Blair and deliberately cracked his knuckles as he too was released.

          _That must be the building owner or something,_ Blair thought. _And he knows these guys, has a connection with them. Oh, man. If they throw me out with them, I'm dead meat._

          "All right, you heard the man," the bouncer behind him said gruffly. "Settle your differences outside." He shoved Blair toward the exit, and the anthropologist stumbled, almost losing his balance.

          "Hey, man," he protested, "can't we talk this over? I wasn't causing any trouble when these three–"

          "I don't want to hear it," the older man replied, a smile lurking around his lips that Blair didn't like. "Not my problem, friend. Now, out!"

          The anthropologist stumbled again as a harsh shove from behind punctuated the security man's reply. Simultaneously considering and rejecting half a dozen responses, he settled on one and turned to face the older man. "You really don't want me to turn up dead or injured on or near your premises," he warned. "I work with the police on a regular basis, and my friends on the force will turn this place inside out. Do you really want that?"

          Perhaps because of the ring of truth in his words, the older man hesitated fractionally, looking hard at Blair for a long moment.

Knowing that his appearances didn't support his claim, the Guide settled for meeting the man's eyes as straightforwardly and forcefully as possible. But he wasn't too surprised when the man shook his head and laughed. "Sure you do," he sneered. "You, work with the police? Unless you mean on the inside of a cell!" He glanced at the bouncers. "Throw them–"

          The double doors at the entrance smashed open and Jim strode through them, his lips tight and eyes narrow.

          "Who the hell are you?" the fair-haired older man snarled. "I don't–"

          "Detective James Ellison," the officer barked, staring at him. "Cascade PD. And I'm here looking for my partner." Glancing around at them all, his gaze lighted on Blair. If possible, the dark eyes narrowed even more. "Sandburg? Who the hell assaulted you?"

          Wordless, Blair nodded at the three men, and Jim glanced at them and shook his head. "Really, Kuiper," he said to the blond, "I thought you knew better than this. Guess you liked it on the inside so much you just can't wait to go back. Well, I can oblige." Stepping over, he jerked the man around, thrusting him against the wall and kicking his legs apart.

          The other two men started for the door, only to halt as the whine of a siren whirled to a stop outside. Bare seconds later two uniformed officers stepped inside, their hands resting on their holstered guns.

          "Those two," Jim called as he handcuffed Kuiper and turned around again, jerking the man with him. "And when you're through, take all three of them back to the station. Book them on charges of assault. Sandburg will be by to fill in the details."

          Stepping out of the bouncer's reach, Blair made his way back to the trash bin he'd seen Kevin toss the vial into, breathing a sigh of relief when he saw it was still easily accessible. Ignoring all the gazes on him, he snagged a napkin off a nearby table and carefully scooped it out, holding it up to the light. Across the side, in tiny but very clear letters, was the words "ketamine hydrochloride."

          A smile curled his lips and he wasn't surprised to find Jim at his shoulder. "Did you get what you came for, Sandburg?"

          The use of his last name two times in close succession told Blair that the Sentinel was still angry at him, but at the moment his own mission took precedence. He silently handed over the vial, and Jim tilted it to the light and then grimaced. Wrapping the vial carefully in the napkin, he dropped it into his pocket and looked at the Guide. "Who?"

          Blair jerked his head toward the left, then turned and led the detective to the door he'd seen Kevin use. Off to the side, the officers finished cuffing the subjects and pushed them outside, the bouncers hastily closing the doors behind them. The owner stalked off, white lines around his mouth, and as if that were a signal, the lights flicked off.

          "Turn down your hearing," Blair said in a low voice and Jim glanced at him and nodded.

          Ellison was just in time; the music started again, seemingly even louder than before.

Blair pushed through the door into an empty hallway, Jim on his heels, and closed it quickly behind them. The door muffled the heavy beat enough for them to talk and Ellison shook his head.

          "What're we doing, Chief?" he asked in a low voice. "You have a lot of explaining to do."

          Deciding to ignore the last statement, Blair shrugged. "I followed Kevin Stockholm here. He's the grad student on the exhibition committee who's interested in these parties. He met Alice Barnes here – she's on that committee, too," he added at Jim's raised eyebrow. "I saw Kevin dump some of the ketamine into the drink he was taking to her. I was going to follow them and call you in on it," he said at the Sentinel's glare, "but I was, uh, sidetracked."

          "'Sidetracked'?" Jim repeated. "Do you have any idea how close you came to getting yourself killed, Sandburg? Damn it, Kuiper's got a rap sheet a mile long. He's known for assault, armed robbery and rape, and a whole lot more that we can't prove."

          "I didn't know he was here. I didn't come here because he was here," Blair pointed out evenly, "and I'm not responsible for what he does or where he goes. Now, can we go get Kevin and deal with this later?"

          "Fine," Jim said shortly, starting down the hallway. "Let's hope he didn't leave the building this way or we'll never find him."

          Blair shrugged and followed him, halting when the man stopped, his head cocked. "What do you hear?" he asked softly.

          Jim held up a hand, then stepped quickly toward one of the doors on the left side of the hallway and threw it open. "Police! Freeze!"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "I tell you, I just gave her the ketamine so I could have sex with her! That's all! And I've _never_ given it to a guy!"

          Blair stood in the darkened observation room the next morning, watching Rafe and Henry interrogate Kevin like the experts they were. The door opened behind him and he sighed silently, knowing who had entered without looking around.

          Jim halted beside him, studying the questioning process for a long moment. "It's not him," he eventually said, his voice flat.

          Blair shrugged. "It could've been."

          "It wasn't."

          Unable to think of an answer to that, Blair said nothing.

          Ellison sighed and Blair could feel his gaze. "Chief, you almost got yourself killed tonight for a kid whose only use for ketamine is to get a good lay. You didn't tell me where you were going, or what you were doing. I found you by the skin of my teeth – and yours. If I hadn't turned up, you could've been dead, or worse."

          The anthropologist fought back his bitterness, just managing to keep it from his tone when he answered. "I told you about Kevin yesterday and you wouldn't listen to me. Under the circumstances, I think my suspicions were justified, and if this had been any other case you would've been the first to follow my lead."

          "This isn't any other case," Ellison said through his teeth. "It's one that we're through with, because it's over and closed. Why can't you let it go?"

          Blair wavered between anger and resignation, frustration mounting in him. "Because it's _not_ over!" he snapped. "Damn it, Jim, it's only been a few days since the last murder, and there was a week between it and the second one. If it were just me saying there's still a problem, you'd listen, but because it's Maggie who says it, you're ignoring it!"

          "Sandburg–"

          "I'm going back to the loft," Blair said, gritting his teeth at the patient tone of his Sentinel's voice. "I'll see you there." He turned and left, knowing that his decision to leave Jim to handle the mop-up of the whole process with Kevin wasn't going to make it easier to bridge the growing rift between them, but he was unable to stop himself. Try as he might, he simply wasn't up to dealing with that tone; in some ways it was worse than being shouted at. Anger he could understand and manage, but when Jim was patient with him it brought back old memories of being patronized by those who invariably thought they knew better than he did how to do what needed to be done. Hell, this was the first time where he really felt like he was on a mission for the Legacy, not just part of business that happened to intersect with them. And he really would appreciate some support from Jim in that area.

          _Hey, now_ , he cautioned himself as he exited the building and headed toward a bus stop, blinking in the early morning sunlight. _Remember, from his point of view he's right, and I do owe him for last night. God only knows what Kuiper and his cronies would have done to me. And I'm really glad I didn't have to find out. Maybe I should've told him where I was going, but then he would've insisted that I not go, and I would've gone, and we would've just had another argument, and he still would've ended up down there to rescue me._

_Or he would've gone with me, under protest. And spending an evening with Jim at a rave, loud music and flashing lights, looking for a man he thought was worthless to pursue only to find out that he was right… No. On the whole, this might've been bad, but that would've been worse._

_Besides_ , he thought as a bus stopped before him and he climbed aboard, choosing the nearest seat and sinking into it, _this isn't really about last night. It's about the Legacy and my role in it, and my place beside him. I can handle both those things without a problem, but he can't. He's slipping back into his either/or mindset, so it's either the Legacy or him. It can't be both. He's gotten a lot better about handling shifting roles and positions around me, but he's slipping a little on this. And I can't seem to push him back toward the middle ground._

_Damn it, I don’t want this to be a problem between us as Sentinel and Guide, but I can't seem to get him to see that it's not the problem he thinks it is._

Blair huffed out a sigh as he pulled the cord for a stop, then climbed off the bus and started toward the loft and home. _And I don't know what to do about this, either. But it's not going to get any easier._

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Flashing lights, news cameras and reporters thick in the uneasy but fascinated crowd, police officers everywhere… That was Blair's first impressions of the crime scene in an out-of-the-way area of the Community Center as he swung his car into a parking space. He slid out of the vehicle and headed slowly toward the center of all the activity. Jim was over there somewhere, and Sandburg knew without thinking about it that he wasn't going to be happy about Blair turning up here. Particularly not at _this_ crime scene, not on the evening of the day that the anthropologist had told the detective that it wasn't over, that a murderer was still out there, just waiting to strike again.

          And here it was, just what Blair had expected.

          _I've got to be careful_ , he thought as he approached the flapping tape and ducked under it with a practiced move. _I don't want to rub his nose in it; good god, I didn't want this to happen, and I sure don't want to use it against Jim_.

Was that true, though? He searched himself as he glanced around, locating the Sentinel at the edge of a pavilion and heading toward him.

          _No_ , he concluded as he approached the man, he didn't want to use this against Jim, didn't want to say "I told you so." All he wanted was for them to regain their easy camaraderie and work together to solve this case, whatever it took.

          "Gonna say you told me so?" Jim asked without turning to look at Blair as he came to a halt at the Sentinel's side, watching the forensic people working around the splattered pool of blood and the gleaming red symbols.

          "No," Blair said simply.

          Jim cast him a quick glance, then looked back at the scene. "Happened around two hours ago," he said, his voice taking on a businesslike tone that told Sandburg they were back on the same side.

 _At least for the moment_ , the younger man thought gratefully. "Who found it?" he asked Jim.

          "A teacher taking her class to a play," Jim said wearily.

          "Ouch," the younger man muttered. "What age group?"

          Ellison shrugged. "Junior high. Twelve- and thirteen-year-olds. Fifteen of them."

          Blair sighed. "Did the kids see it?"

          Jim lifted a shoulder, let it fall. "Some of it. She managed to get them away before they saw more than the blood. We don't think they saw the body, or the perp."

          "Oh, man," Blair said helplessly. "Where are they now?"

          Ellison glanced at him, then away. "Simon put them on their school bus, and he and several other uniforms escorted them back to the school where their parents were supposed to meet them."

          The anthropologist could just imagine that – the group of police officers trying to explain what had happened to the parents without being too graphic, detaining the teacher for questioning as a witness, the young teens, shocked and probably scared and confused. _Oh, man, I'm glad I'm here and not there. I wouldn't have Simon's job for anything you could name._

          "Me, either," Jim agreed with an unusual amount of fervor in the words. "You done here?" he asked as the forensic duo approached, and Blair shook off the shock at the Sentinel's reply to his own thoughts. Sometimes the link even surprised him, and he wasn't too sure he would ever really get used to it, even with all the times they'd practiced it.

          "All yours," she said breezily as she passed, followed by her male companion, and Jim stepped forward, glancing down at Blair. "I'm sorry to have to ask you to do this, Chief," he said quietly as they neared the officers efficiently bagging the body, "but–"

          "You need to know if I can ID him," the observer finished resignedly. "I know." He braced himself as he came up on the officers, and Jim glanced at him, then halted the men with a gesture and reached for the zipper, pulling it down at Blair's nod.

          The anthropologist blinked and stepped closer, staring. "Oh, man," he said softly. "They're moving up in the world."

          "You know him." Ellison's words weren't a question, but Blair nodded anyway.

          "Yeah," he answered, stepping back as the bag was sealed again. "Well, not really… Sort of."

          "Sandburg." The growl in the voice prodded the Guide on.

Blair half-smiled. "Sorry, man. He was one of the professors on the expedition that found the jars, the scroll – the stuff we're showing in the exhibition."

          "So he's another one from the committee," Jim said thoughtfully, frowning as Blair shook his head.

          "No, man, he's not on the committee," Blair corrected. "He was on the expedition. He's one of the professors who was at the actual dig. No one on the Rainier committee for the exhibition was really there. But we're working with the grads and profs who were."

          Jim was silent for a moment, his mouth tightening. "So we're not dealing with those on the outskirts anymore."

          Blair shook his head, aware of the Sentinel's relief even through the heightened concern he felt as a detective. The danger had passed over Blair, leaving him untouched, and for that, at least, the Guide knew Ellison was grateful.

          "I hate to say this, Jim," he commented quietly as they stepped away from the officers, "but it's beginning to look like this has more to do with the scroll than it does with the people involved with the exhibition."

          The detective glanced at him, frowning, then held up his hand when Blair would have continued. "Not now, Sandburg. We're going to meet with Simon in half an hour, in his office; talk about it then. Right now I want to know if you can ID this perp, too."

          Blair shrugged, nodding as he fell into step with the Sentinel, but he frowned as the idea that had just struck him nudged deeper into his mind, falling into place in a way he didn't like at all.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          It was actually closer to an hour and a half before Simon, Jim and Blair sat down in the captain's office, and Blair was very grateful that he'd taken the time that afternoon to nap briefly. It might not make up for the sleep he'd missed the night before, but it helped, and now, at 10 p.m., he needed all the help he could get.

          Simon didn't look much better, and eyeing the drawn expression on the man's face, the anthropologist felt a rush of sympathy. Banks had had a rough night already, what with meeting with the parents of the young teenagers, dealing with the media, and now touching bases with the two of them.

 _And what I'm going to have to add to this isn't going to help_ , Blair thought wearily. The idea he'd had earlier had grown and, unable to refute or deny it, he knew he'd have to share it, something he wasn't looking forward to at all.

"So, what do we have?" Simon asked, staring at them both.

Jim shook his head. "Sandburg ID'd the perp and the victim; both of them are connected with the exhibition getting ready to happen over at Rainier." He paused, glancing at the anthropologist, who took up the report.

"The victim was a professor," Blair said steadily, meeting Simon's gaze, "and the perp is a graduate student; both were part of the actual archaeological dig that found the items we'll be showing in the exhibit."

"Both have ketamine in their systems," Ellison cut in, "but neither have a history of drug abuse."

Simon pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, focusing on Blair. "All right, so this has something to do with this exhibit. Everyone so far has had connections to it. Any ideas, Sandburg?"

"One," Blair said soberly, "but you're not going to like it."

"I already don't like it," Simon growled, "but I'm asking anyway. Get on with it."

The anthropologist nodded. "All right. The first victim would have been on the committee to organize the exhibition. There's seven of us on that committee, and none of us have any connection to the dig or what was recovered there. None of us have seen the scroll fragments they found until they got here, and we aren't involved in the research being done around it."

He took a breath and continued. "The second victim was also from that committee. The perp was–"

Simon's eyebrows peaked and he interrupted. "Sounds like the committee is being whittled down." He glanced at Jim, who was staring narrow-eyed at Blair. "Did you know about this?"

"I didn't know there were only seven on the committee," Ellison gritted, not looking away from the anthropologist, who only shrugged.

"There was nothing you could've done, Jim," Blair pointed out. "When the first victim was killed, it just meant someone else got chosen in his place. The second one cramped us a bit, but no one complained."

"And you never thought it was worth mentioning to me that there were only five of you left?" Jim growled.

Blair paused, then said gently, "The case was closed."

Ellison's jaw muscles bunched and he looked away. Simon glanced from one of them to the other, but wisely left the issue alone. "Go on, Sandburg," he said neutrally, puffing on his cigar. "What about the perp who killed the second victim?"

The observer looked back at him. "He's from another group, one that's working with the scroll directly. Most of them were on the dig that recovered it. The perp who killed the second victim was also from that group. So are both the victim and the perp from tonight."

"Hmm," Simon muttered. "Sounds like whatever's going on is shifting ground. How many are in this second group?"

Blair shrugged. "There were four universities involved in the dig, so they all have representatives here for the exhibition. There's four professors, one from each university, and each of them brought grad students and post-docs with them. There's, uh, three post-docs… five grad students, and two undergrads, I think."

"And the four professors," Banks added thoughtfully. "So, fourteen total. Who's the victim and who's the perp?"

"One of the grad students killed a professor," Ellison said briefly. "We need to warn the others."

Simon nodded. "Do it. But this still doesn't explain what's going on, or who's behind it. I've seen the reports – neither of the perps can be called sane any more. We're not going to get a motive out of them. They're just raving about someone called Roger and what he told them to do."

"None of the people connected with this have a name that even comes close to Roger," Blair offered, then shifted uneasily.

Banks stared at him. "You have anything to add to this, Sandburg?"

"Yeah," the shaman said quietly. "I think we have to start considering the scroll as a suspect."

There was a moment of silence as the two men stared at him, then a hubbub as both spoke at once.

"Hell, Sandburg–"

"Damn it, what do you think you're–"

Simon waved Ellison to silence and stared at Blair fiercely. "Is this more shaman stuff, Sandburg?"

Blair sighed. "Yeah, sort of. But it makes sense, in a weird kind of way. I mean, think about it. The victims are from groups whose work revolves around the scroll, and they get closer and closer to it as the murders go on. The killers are all from the group that has had direct access to the scroll, and the symbols they use at the crime scene are from the same culture as the language the scroll is written in." He shrugged. "And, to make matters worse, all the killers, who all had direct access to the scroll, are mad, and they're both acting crazy in the same kind of way. They even talk about the same things, use the same words."

He looked from one man to the other. "The scroll's the obvious connection between everyone involved in this. I wouldn't be all that surprised if it has a name, or if that name is Roger, or something like it."

There was silence in the office for a long moment, then Simon sighed. "Damn it, Blair, I hate it when you do this to me."

His rare use of the observer's first name belied the harsh words and Blair half-smiled and shrugged helplessly. "Sorry."

"If you're right," Simon said quietly, avoiding Ellison's gaze, "then we are out of our league with this. You're the shaman here, Sandburg. You have any ideas how to handle this… situation?"

Blair glanced sideways at Jim, who was staring stonily at Simon, and bit back a sigh. "I have some… friends who might be able to help us," he said cautiously.

Simon glanced at Jim, too, frowning, then looked back at Blair. "Fine. Get on it. We'll alert the others that they might be targets and see what we can drum up in terms of connections between the killers and their victims. But if you're right, and this has a metaphysical answer, then we're going to be shit out of luck in dealing with it. Go on," he said to Blair, waving his cigar at him, "get out of here. No, Jim," he said as Ellison rose woodenly, "you stay here."

Blair glanced at his partner, then quietly left the room, pulling the door shut behind him and heading toward Jim's desk, his gaze on the phone sitting half-buried under a stack of file folders. It was very strange not to be the one Simon kept in his office, and he wasn't sure he liked the feeling.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"Dr. Selkirk was one of our friends," Maggie said calmly, and Blair blinked at her, glancing over at Sean, who sat eying him with an expression he couldn't decipher. It was the next morning, and he sat in the library of the House again, bringing Maggie and Sean up to date with the murders.

"You mean that this professor knew about the Legacy?" he asked, frowning.

"Yes," Maggie said, smiling at him. "That means," she continued, "that he knew who we are and what we do. We have many such friends; they basically serve as points of contact out in the world. If they see or hear something that they think we should be aware of, they inform us of it. Thus, the scroll."

Blair's eyes narrowed. "What about it?"

"After he returned from the expedition," Maggie explained, "and apparently after the first two murders occurred, he changed his will. He specified that if he were to die unexpectedly the Oran Institute would have the legal right to stand in for him with regarded to the scroll. One of our representatives will be his proxy as the research on the scroll goes forward."

Blair digested this, then nodded. "So I was right; the murders _are_ about the scroll."

"Oh, yes," Maggie agreed, her smile dying, "although we're still not entirely sure why. That is what we have to uncover." She studied him thoughtfully. "Blair, you're already involved with the exhibition, and familiar with the people involved. You're also known to work for the Oran Institute. You'll be our representative in this."

Blair inhaled, his jaw tightening. "What does that mean?"

"It means that you'll become one of the group who's doing research on the scroll. I understand that they're attempting to piece it together," Maggie answered, and he swallowed dryly.

"It also makes you a target," Sean said, the tone of his voice one that Blair couldn't interpret. "Scared?"

"Nervous," the anthropologist corrected, not bothering to get annoyed at the question. He looked at Maggie. "I sure hope you have some instructions for me, because I don't know anything about how to do this."

She smiled at him. "You're simply our eyes and ears in this, Blair. Offer what suggestions you can from your own expertise, but we don't expect you to lead the group, or to contribute to it as Dr. Selkirk would have. He was an expert in his field, and that field isn't yours, nor do we expect you to become an expert on short notice. But as an anthropologist you understand both the culture of academia and the people involved in this project, and that, together with your own unique approach to situations, should enable you to provide us with an analysis of the research that we've lacked until now. And your own shamanic gifts may aid us as well." She studied him for a long moment, then added, "As a representative of the Oran Institute, you'll be expected to insist upon bringing the scroll to us for additional research, and that's what we want. Then Sean can study the scroll directly, compare it with what he's found about the symbols at the crime scenes."

Blair's eyebrows peaked. "I don't think they'll hand over the scroll when they've put all this work into piecing it back together."

Maggie nodded. "Until they've brought all the pieces together that may be true, and we don't expect to see it until then. But the student who killed Dr. Selkirk was the one who was working on the translation of the whole scroll and not just of the different pieces. With the loss of that expertise, I think the members of the group might be willing to work with the Institute and the world class researcher that we have to offer." She smiled at Sean, who blushed and looked away.

Blair blinked, looking at his team member with surprise. "Yeah," he said softly, "I could see that." Sean glanced up at him, startled, and Blair smiled at him. Then he pushed to his feet, saying, "I'll get things set in motion."

"Blair," Maggie said, "be careful."

Sandburg nodded. "I will." He turned and headed out of the library, almost running into Father John Farr. "John, sorry."

"No problem," the man replied, smiling. "You on the way out?"

"Yeah."

"Great. You're parked behind me and I have to go pick CJ up."

          The two men walked outside together, Blair coming to an abrupt halt when the priest said, "So, how are you and Sean getting along?"

          Looking up at the man, Sandburg said, "I wish I knew. I just don't get the hostility."

          John reached out and rested his hand on Blair's shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. "He'll come around. All he needs is a little experience under his belt."

          That brought the Guide's head up. "Experience? Sean's been in the Legacy his whole life."

          John nodded. "True, but he was… sheltered," he said at last. "The precept of the House he was born into thought he might be vulnerable, until his talents and convictions were more mature. He was kept away from Legacy business. And too much of life, I'm afraid. You can't blame him for being a little envious about you."

          "Me?" Blair questioned.

          John grinned. "Your life, my friend, has been one experience after another, if even half of what you've told me is true."

          That brought a thin smile to Sandburg's lips as well. "Yeah, I guess it has."

          "Sean is a brilliant young man, but he's just now getting his feet wet with the Legacy, just like you. But your life has prepared you far better than his has, which is a shame, really."

          Blair nodded. He had assumed Sean had always been involved with the Legacy. He'd even been a little envious of the younger man. But now… _Man, I'm going to have to sit down and think about this when this is over. I think Sean and I are going to have to have a long talk._ He wasn't sure he wanted to do it, but knew he didn't have a choice.

          "Blair?"

          The Guide looked up. "Huh?"

          "You want to let me out of here?"

          "Oh, yeah, sorry." Blair headed for his car, calling, "Thanks, John," as he opened the door and climbed in.

          The priest waved in response, and Sandburg was almost certain it was a kind of fatherly pride he saw in the man's eyes. He blushed slightly as he inserted his key and turned the engine over.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

 _I'm losing him. I'm losing him. I'm losing him_.

The words kept running through Jim's mind, rising as steadily as did the bubbles in the pot of boiling water on the stove in front of him. Panic squeezed his ribs, shortened his breathing, and behind that, familiar and inexorable, was the ever-present anger that was his automatic response to loss. He recognized the sullen fury for what it was, but was as helpless to halt it as he had been when his wife had left him, and now, faced with a rift between himself and his friend that seemed to grow by the day, hell, by the hour, he couldn't resist the simmering, righteous anger.

_Damn it, how could he do this to us? He promised that he'd be here, that he'd never leave, that being Guide to my Sentinel was everything he'd ever wanted. And now he's drifting away, day by day, and–_

He forced himself to remove the pot from the eye, setting it in the sink and turning cold water on to cool off the hardboiled eggs. He turned back to the cabinet, eyeing the ingredients he'd laid out earlier without favor but began to open the can of tuna anyway, the can opener forcing the container into a circle that reminded him forcibly of his own relentless spiral.

_I can't stop him. He's a grown man. He can make his own choices, his own mistakes. And this is a mistake, damn it! He's going to regret this, I know it!_

He finished opening the tuna, pressed out the water, then turned the can upside down over a medium-sized metal bowl and used a fork to clean out the can. Then he methodically shredded the fish, trying to avoid looking at the young man so involved in seemingly relaxed reading on the couch in the living room, in sight but not in easy hearing.

_When did I start caring so much about this? It's not fair–_

The thought brought him up short and he strangled a snort, still carefully shredding the fish. Blair didn't like his tuna chunky.

_Since when is life fair? I've never expected it to be before; why is this any different?_

He measured out the mayonnaise, halting in the middle to turn off the cold water. The sudden silence made him wince and he stifled the reaction, not wanting Blair to notice.

 _So, why is this any different?_ he asked himself again as he stirred other ingredients into the bowl.

 _Because life isn't fair. But Blair always has been_ , answered the small voice inside. He knew from experience that he couldn't ignore it. _How do you know he's not being fair now?_ it continued. _After all, it's not like he's said he's leaving._

 _But he is_ , Jim argued with the voice, setting his teeth. _His loyalties are shifting, his work's changing, he's changing. The Legacy_ _is taking him away and he–_

 _You have to admit that he deserves it_ , the small voice pointed out reasonably. _After all, it's not like police work challenges him, not in the way his own academic work does. He's not a cop. He doesn't want to be a cop_.

 _But he's mine!_ Jim snarled and turned to peel the eggs, forcing himself to focus on the task without looking up. He didn't want to know if Sandburg had heard that ragged claim, didn't think he could stand the look of pity in his eyes if he had.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Blair shifted in the hard chair, trying hard not to bounce. He was a representative of the Oran Institute, of the Legacy, in this group and he really didn't want to let his enthusiasm run away with him. Granted, it wasn't every day that you saw the pieces of a 2000-year-plus scroll set in place, but he couldn't afford to get lost in the moment, not when he had to bring back a report to Maggie.

          _And to Jim_ , a part of his mind reminded him, but he turned away from it quickly. It hurt too much to think about his talk with Jim yesterday evening; telling the Sentinel about his new appointment in the Legacy.

          _How did it go so wrong?_ he wondered as he watched one of the professors halt in the hallway outside the room to talk with a colleague. _Jim's always been able to congratulate me on opportunities before, he even pushed me to take advantage of them when I hesitated. So why's this one so hard?_

          He sighed as he watched a graduate student stop outside in the hallway and become involved in the professors' conversation. Oh, well, it wasn't like they really had a timetable to keep to, after all. No one here really expected to fit all the pieces of the scroll together on the first try, but they would no doubt certainly try. He should still get home for supper today in time, no problem.

          _Why is this so hard on Jim?_ he wondered, absently waving away a large fly before resting his chin on his balled fist and propping his elbow on the table. After all, this wasn't the first time Blair had worked as part of a group.

          _But it is the first time you've done it as a representative of the Legacy,_ he reminded himself. _And it's the first time you've done it as a member of a team that he's not a part of, at least, not officially._

          He pondered that thought for a long moment, watching another of the three professors enter the scroll room, as he'd come to think of it, waving to the faculty member still involved in an animated discussion in the hallway, and who looked up and nodded.

          _I wonder if he doesn't know, or he doesn't let himself know that he's involved in the Legacy? That would explain the hyper-protective streak yesterday. I've never had to not just ignore that mood, but say no to something he asked me to do while he was in one before. That was… rough._ He sighed softly, automatically reaching for Jim through the link, not to say something, but just to feel his presence.

The wall between them was as cold as it had been this morning when he'd left the loft, and just as hard, too. He sighed again. He had no doubt that if something happened to him the wall would melt away like so much hot air and Jim would know he was in trouble, but it made living through everything that might happen in the interim even more difficult than it already was.

          _Damn,_ he thought wryly. _Why'd he have to ask me to turn down being a representative, anyway? He had to know I couldn't do that, that I had to say no to him._ He sighed, straightening as the two professors in the hallway filed into the room, followed by several graduate students. A couple more flies buzzed in with them, but no one paid any attention. The air in the room took on an expectant feel, and a tingle of excitement shot down Blair's spine, an emotion he could see reflected in everyone else's expressions as well.

          "Well," Dr. Skort said soberly, "let's get to it then." She led the way over to one of the long lab tables, gesturing to the group to disperse along it. "Now, Alex knows the scroll best, so we agreed that he'll in charge of fitting the pieces together. We've all numbered our pieces in what is our best guess as to where they fit, so, if each of you will carefully bring your part of the scroll to him, you and Alex can try fitting them together."

          "Well, if the first combinations don't work, we've got other ones to try," Derian muttered to Blair, who nodded, glancing down the table at the scroll piece marked #4. That one was his, or rather, it had been Dr. Selkirk's, before he had been murdered.

          Blair grimaced, reminding himself as a member of the research group now, he was a target as well, a fact that Jim had been careful to pound into him yesterday. And, glancing around at the people in the lab, he wondered if one of them, or possibly even more than one, might be the murderer, or murderers, and if so, why were they doing it? Everyone looked completely harmless and sane right now, of course, but then, that was what he would have expected.

          _And if the scroll is responsible?_ he asked himself, but he couldn't find an answer.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          5 p.m. The lab table was clean except for two glass-encased objects. One was the scroll, complete except for one ragged corner, and the other was that missing piece, a small piece of parchment roughly three inches across. Everyone in the lab was silent, their gazes on that last piece, and then everyone exhaled, smiles flickering across tired faces.

          "We're actually going to finish it today," Karen Wells whispered to Blair, her eyes shining, and he nodded, bouncing from one foot to the other, flicking off the fly that landed on the table in front of him.

          "Hope it works," he whispered back, "because I'm starving!"

          She nodded, and they leaned forward to watch as another grad student moved up to stand beside Alex, her gaze fixed on the scrap of parchment sporting her number. Her presence at his side was symbolic, since by now they could all tell which way the last piece would fit, but she had been the one in charge of it, so no one blamed her for exercising her rights in the matter.

          Alex looked around at them all and then nodded. "Well, let's do it." He carefully lifted the glass cover from the fragmented scroll and everyone held their breaths as the different pieces reacted to the rush of air, slight as it was.

          _Man, am I glad that we can seal the scroll into one piece as soon as this puzzle is done,_ Blair thought tightly, only remembering to breathe as the parchment calmed.

The young woman lifted the glass shield from her own piece and formally stepped out of Alex's way as he reached for it, his eyes gleaming.

Everyone leaned forward, gazes fixed on the action. And because of that, everyone saw exactly what happened next.

          As Alex carefully shifted the last piece into place in the jigsaw puzzle that the scroll had become, the parchment shimmered faintly and became whole, the pieces melding into each other to create a whole, unmarked, unbroken scroll. The writing on the parchment shifted as well, one moment still and frozen, and in the next it… _flowed._ That was the only way Blair could find to describe it. And then the words shifted as well, transforming into new text before their shocked gazes.

          The grad student standing next to Alex stumbled backward, as did almost everyone except Blair, who rested his hands on the table and leaned forward to stare, icy fear trickling down his back. _Oh, boy. Houston, we have a problem._

          A large fly buzzed around the scroll, then lighted on it under the raised glass plate. Alex reached to wave it off, but Blair held up a hand, and the graduate student frowned, but halted. Blair leaned forward farther, watching the fly intently. It buzzed a moment, then jerked once and died.

          "Oh, gross," Karen muttered, speaking for everyone.

          Blair started to reach forward, to flick the fly off the parchment, but paused, a warning tingle rushing through him. Instead, he bent closer to the scroll and blew, once, sharply. The brief wind lifted the insect, depositing it on the table, where the Guide placed a cupped hand over it. Then, taking the tissue someone handed him, he wrapped the insect inside it before carefully inserting it into his pocket. That done, he glanced around at the group, finding most of them staring back at him with fascinated repugnance, although one of the professors was nodding.

          Blair took a deep breath, then said in a voice he hoped sounded calm and professional, "I think that the Oran Institute is much better suited to study whatever just happened here than we are. Does anyone disagree?"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Here's the fly that was killed," Blair said, handing over the wrapped insect to Sean, who dropped it into a small plastic bag and zipped it shut. "And here's the scroll. Be really careful about touching it," he warned as the young man took the padded case the anthropologist handed him.

          Sean shot him an annoyed glance. "The Legacy has been handling things like this for thousands of years, Sandburg; don't you think they trained me to know how to do my job?"

          _Okay, I deserved that_ , Blair thought, holding up his hands, palms out in a gesture of surrender. "Sorry," he said carefully. "I just thought–"

          "You know your problem, Sandburg?" Sean said brusquely as he turned to leave the now-empty lab. "You think no one else can do something right without you being in the mix."

          And then he was gone, leaving an annoyed and frustrated Guide standing in the lab.

          "Sounds like a personality conflict," Alex said, leaning in from an inside laboratory. "But I bet it'd all look better with some food inside you. Want to go to supper? I know this great little place not too far from here."

          Blair thought about that, tempted. He could go home to the loft, to a partner who would either be angry at him for not calling about being an hour and a half late for their six o'clock dinner, or who would be angry at him for acting as a representative of the Legacy. _Either way, I'm screwed_.

He glanced at the clock and grimaced. _Especially at seven-thirty. Might as well be damned for a sheep as for a lamb._ Jim wouldn't be happy if he ate supper out, either, but he could deal. Right now Blair was just too tired to care.

          He nodded. "Think I missed my meal at home anyway," he commented. "But let me give my partner a call so he'll know I'll be home later."

          "Sure," Alex agreed, leading the way out of the lab as Blair fished his cell phone out of his backpack. "My treat. I'll drop you back at your car after we're done."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Jim climbed out of the truck, staring grimly up at the Legacy House's steps, then slammed the door behind himself and headed toward the entrance, his jaw bunched.

          _He can't do this. Damn it, I won't let him. This playing two games, two sides, has got to stop and, by God, I'm going to put a stop to it, right now._

          He stomped up the House steps, dimly noticing the light strips that edged each step, Blair's impressed comments of months earlier running through the back of his mind. Windows glowed with light and Jim snarled at the warmth, raising his hand to pound on the front door.

          The harsh raps had hardly faded when the door was opened. "Jim, how good to see you." Maggie's words and expression were as warm and welcoming as the light streaming from the House behind her and Jim hunched his shoulders against his own liking of the woman.

          "We need to talk," he said curtly.

          The precept's smile faded and she studied him thoughtfully before nodding. "Yes, I guess we do."

          Briefly Jim wondered why the reply reminded him of Simon, then he silently snarled at himself, forcing the idea into nothingness, deep in his brain. But the feeling wouldn't go away, and as he followed Maggie into the House, he fought for the unambiguous, straightforward anger he'd felt before he'd arrived.

          Maggie led him up one flight of stairs and into a good-sized office, flipping on two standing lights as she entered. Polished oak bookcases sat against both walls, with a well-appointed desk sitting across the room from the door. A large window sided it, city lights twinkling from a distance. The thick carpet was soft under Jim's feet. The peaceful setting threatened to calm his anger and he stubbornly looked away from her thoughtful gaze as she seated herself at the small round table set in the open space at the near end of the room.

She gestured and he reluctantly followed her lead, settling into a seat opposite hers, although he would have preferred to stand.

          "You're angry about Blair," Maggie said quietly.

          As if her words were a catalyst, hot resentment poured through him and he glared at her. "He can't work two jobs at once," he stated. "It's cutting into his other responsibilities and that stops – now."

          Maggie gazed at him, seemingly unperturbed by the blunt words. A small part of him noted the reaction with admiration. Of course, Simon wouldn't be upset, either.

 _Stop thinking of her like that!_ he snapped at himself.

          "What other responsibilities?" she asked levelly. "I know he's been handling his adjunct duties at the University admirably well. In fact, I've talked to the head of his department and she's very impressed, since she knows he works for us too. _I_ certainly have no complaints about his work and, from what I know of his schedule, he's been putting in regular hours at the police station with you. Which responsibilities is he failing?"

          _Mine_ , Jim thought. Aloud he said brusquely, "None of your business. I'm just here to tell you that this work with the Legacy has to stop."

          Maggie leaned back in her chair and considered him. "Isn't that a decision Blair should make?"

          "No," Jim denied furiously. "He's leaving the Legacy."

          "How do you think Blair would feel if he knew you were here, telling me this?" Her voice was as quiet as ever, but Ellison fought back a wince. He knew what his Guide's response would be, and it didn't bear thinking about. But, damn it, this _had_ to stop!

          "I think the real problem is that it's you, not Blair, who can't deal with his working two jobs," the older woman observed, "particularly when the second job is for the Legacy. And especially when it's not a 'job' so much as it is a profession, a calling even. He's becoming one of our team, one of the Legacy – of which he's a valued member – and it's that, I would guess, that you feel competes with his being your Guide. That, Jim, is the true difficulty for you, isn't it?"

          "That's not true!" Ellison snapped, bristling. How dare she know him that well? Only Simon– He cut off that thought quickly. "I'm leaving," he said, standing. "And Blair won't be back here," he added, not trying to think how he would handle that feat.

          "I think he will," Maggie disagreed calmly. "Just as you will be, too, one day."

          "What're you talking about?" Jim snarled, desperately quashing the tingle of truth he felt at her words.

          The precept gazed up at him, somehow not at all disadvantaged by the differences in their heights. "Jim, whether you admit it to yourself or not, you must know, just as we do, that you are, ex officio, a member of the Legacy. Somewhere down the road I fully expect you to become a full-fledged member of this House, and I think you know that, too. Blair certainly does," she added.

          "He– He does?" Jim bit his lip, but it was too late to strangle the question, and somehow he found himself sitting down again.

          "Of course," Maggie answered, her matter-of-fact answer going far to convince him. She saw his frown and leaned forward, all solemn urgency in her reply. "Jim, when Derek Rayne recruited Blair, his first question to Rayne was, 'What about Jim?' That's never changed. You've always been first in his thoughts, and in his future goals. He's not walking away from you right now. He's simply walking point on a trail he knows that you'll follow in your own time, and in your own way." She gestured to the House around her. "This is your home, too, Jim. You're simply waiting to claim it. And he'll be by your side whenever you do, even as he prepares a place for the two of you to claim here, when the time is right."

          Jim stared at her, wordless. He had never, not in all his wild imaginings of a life with Blair, ever considered joining the Legacy, not now, not ever. He was a cop; what use would they have for what he could do?

          "You're a Sentinel, Jim, as well as a detective."

          Ellison jumped at the quiet statement, then tried to glare at her. "Don't do that!"

          She shrugged, a small smile twitching at the corners of her mouth. "I'm sorry, but it's almost impossible to shut out such a strong question, particularly when there's such pain behind it." Her smile died and she looked at him soberly. "Jim, what we do here is the ultimate in detective work and, believe me, having a Sentinel and a detective is very much worth the wait. Together, you and Blair make quite a team and, although the bond between the two of you will always be primary, I believe that you could both work well with our team. Everyone on it was chosen with that in mind," she added, and he closed his mouth again, words caught in his throat.

          He coughed, cleared his throat, then said hoarsely, "If that's true, I've got to tell you I think you missed the boat with Sean."

          Maggie's dimples showed briefly. "Haven't you ever had a young soldier in one of your units, one whom you knew had the potential to be great at what he did, but who had to be tested enough to believe that himself?"

          Jim looked away. The last young soldier with potential he had known had died in his arms after he'd dragged him from a burning helicopter, and the ex-Ranger had no desire to revisit the memory. "Yes," he answered shortly. Looking up, he saw the sorrow in her eyes, and glanced away again. "So, how's the work on the scroll going?" he asked, almost at random. He just didn't want to talk about the Legacy, or Blair, or his Sentinel-hood any more. The scroll was an easy way to escape. "Blair said that Sean picked it up from him at Rainier."

          "Yes, he did," the older woman said and nodded, accepting the change of subject with grace. "What we've found so far is disturbing, to say the least."

          Despite himself, Jim found himself interested, and he looked back at her. "What'd you find?" Asking the question – so like what he asked Simon on a daily basis – he suddenly became aware of the incipient Legacy status he held, realizing that she had never denied him any information he had ever requested, nor asked Blair to withhold it from him. And he could tell that the frown she wore now had nothing to do with him, and everything to do with her answer.

          "It seems," she said slowly, "that the scroll is alive."

          Ellison blinked at her, unwillingly remembering Blair's assertion that the scroll had to be considered a suspect. "Come again?" he asked her, hearing a history of Sandburg's responses to such answers in his own reply. From the smile she gave him he had a feeling she recognized his partner's influence, and he blushed slightly.

          "I mean," she responded, her smile dying, "that it is a living thing, in and of itself. It has no personality that we can judge, but it acts as a portal to any who are in close contact with it, transporting them to meet the entity who stands on its other side."

          Jim sighed. "Its name wouldn't be Roger, would it?"

          She grimaced. "Actually, its name would be pronounced Row-ha-zay, which in our time is easy enough to Americanize to Roger. He was the central god in a little-known death cult that flourished around the time the scroll was written. It seems that once someone has met Roger, Roger owns them."

          "Owns them? How?" Jim asked, swallowing dryly.

          "Owns their souls," Maggie answered him, meeting his gaze. "The person so owned will do anything at all Roger tells them, and he tempts them to continue following his commands without fighting them by promising them that they can have something they desperately desire – if they only cooperate. Usually he offers the return of someone who has passed over in death, someone the person loved very much."

          "And then he holds that over them if they don't do as he says," Ellison commented, remembering the sobs of the perp at the second murder. "Metaphysical extortion."

          "Exactly," she said, nodding. "But these people aren't just in it for the return of their loved one – they are, quite literally, owned by Roger. Their souls are his, and any choice they have is really only an illusion. He seems to enjoy their love and longing for their loved one as much as he enjoys the pain of those he orders killed."

          Ellison shuddered, remembering some of the ways he himself had been "owned" in the past. Maybe he should be grateful that none of his and Blair's enemies had been deities, although some had certainly been inhuman in their power.

          "We wouldn't have found this out nearly so quickly if it hadn't been for Sean overhearing the murderer at the crime scene raving about a 'Roger.' He was able to put it together with the symbols he translated at the scene, and with the writing on the scroll itself, now that we have it." She looked up at him, frowning. "The scroll was written in blood, and now that it has been made whole once more, the blood is still… alive again, flowing across the words as if they were veins."

          Jim blinked at her, unwilling to ask the question tickling his tongue, sure that he wouldn't like the answer.

          "Yes," she said, answering his unasked question, "the blood itself circulates through the text as if the scroll were a physical body. The blood lives, the scroll is alive, and the portal is working. But that's not the worst of it."

          "Then what the hell is?" the detective asked resignedly.

          "The killers are victims themselves, owned by Roger. But before they murdered, Blair tells me that they injected their victims with ketamine."

Jim nodded.

"High doses of the drug produce a hallucinogenic effect which has often been compared to a near death experience. Users report sensations of rising above their bodies, seeing a tunnel, a light. Many find the experience spiritually significant, others find it frightening. The altered state of consciousness opens them to Roger's influence. The killers were themselves injected and sent to find their own victims on Roger's command."

          Jim rose and paced around the room, unable to deal with the creeping horror in her words with anything but physical action. Halting by the window, he stared out over the grounds, his vision automatically enhancing so that he could see the details without ignoring the lights behind him. "So you're telling me all the victims were sent to Roger, and the murderers already belonged to him, that someone else injected them with the ketamine, setting them up to do the killings," he said.

"Yes."

"So we've got someone running around out there, plotting murders and creating the killers to do it; someone in the group working on the scroll."

          "Yes," Maggie said grimly. "The good thing, although ironic, is that the ketamine is actually fairly easy to neutralize, provided you have the means to inject the victim with epinephrine. That helps reverse the effect and should close the pathway Roger uses to capture them. If it's done in time, the person should wake a sane human being with nothing to show for his or her experience except for what's probably a fairly powerful nightmare."

          The Sentinel turned back to study her, pacing closer. "You mean something like an epi-pin could stop this… thing?"

          She frowned and then nodded. "Yes, I suppose that might do it, although the exact dosage required to counteract the ketamine is unknown. But at that point, anything would be better than nothing – as long as it didn't kill the person."

          Jim nodded, stepping closer. "Blair makes sure that we carry one of those in the truck. I've had an allergic reaction to stuff more than once."

          "Ah," she said, nodding. "Yes, that would make sense for–" She broke off, then reached out to Jim. "Come here, quickly!"

          He didn't hesitate, stepping up close to her.

She grasped his arm in a firm grip, turning to peer up at him. "Where is Blair?"

          "He's having supper with someone from the research group," he answered, automatically reaching to check on his partner as he spoke, and finding him occupied but safe. "What's–?"

Her hand tightened spasmodically on his wrist and she went very pale. Without a word, he twisted free of her grip and spun, heading toward the door in a fast stride. His Sentinel hearing caught her whisper behind him: "Hurry."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Blair woke slowly, with a sick feeling in his stomach and a bitter taste in his mouth that he identified immediately as the aftereffects of chloroform. His hands and feet were bound, and he lay with his back against a wall.

          _Oh no, not again._ He lay still for a long moment, listening, but gained nothing from the attempt except the knowledge that it was quiet around him, although he had a sense that the outside world wasn't that far away. There was a faint scent that he identified, without knowing how or why, as common to the labs in the Anthropology building.

          His last memory was smiling at something Alex had said as they'd exited the men's room, Blair in the lead, and after that everything was black. That left two possible scenarios. Either Alex had chloroformed Blair himself, or someone else had grabbed him and maybe Alex as well. Either way he didn't like the feel, and he had a sneaking suspicion that the first was the correct one.

          _Okay, time to call for backup_. He reached out for Jim only to recoil as the effort rebounded. It was a lot like having an unexpected echo crash into him at very short range and he couldn't help but wince, an action he knew would immediately reveal his conscious state to anyone watching him. So he opened his eyes to find Alex sitting in a chair tipped back against the opposite wall, his gaze steady on Blair.

Something in the man's stare disturbed the shaman, and Sandburg fought back a shiver. "Hey, man, what's going on?" he asked lightly. "If this is some kind of a joke, it's not very funny. Let me go."

          "Funny?" Alex laughed, bringing his chair down on all four legs and standing. "It's never been funny, Blair, you ought to know that. But you're the last one, the final one. With you, he can get what he wants, and I can get Julian back." He paced forward to stare down at the Guide.

          "Who's Julian?" Blair asked, figuring he'd better find out who all the players in this bizarre little drama were before he started planning an escape.

          "My twin," Alex said simply.

          "Uh, what happened to him?" Blair asked when Alex didn't continue, just stood and stared down at him.

          "He died," the other man responded, an almost fey look in his eyes as he spoke. "Two years ago, in a hit and run accident. He was in the _crosswalk_ , for crying out loud!" he snarled, suddenly furious. "He had no right– They never even _found_ him! It wasn't supposed to happen that way!"

The last was a cry of pain, and even with his own concerns, Blair cringed. "But what do I have to do with him?" he asked, trying to break the glassy look on Alex's face with the abrupt question.

          The younger man stared down at him and there was no mistaking the wild gleam in his eyes. "He'll take you and give Julian back to me; he promised. You're not like the others; they were little things, but you, you're everything he wants!"

          Blair fought the sinking feeling in his stomach, trying not to show how the words hit him. "What do you mean, Alex? I'm nobody special. Why should he want me?"

          Alex laughed at him again, wild laughter, and Blair swallowed dryly. "'Nobody special'?" the young man echoed, still smiling. "You're the jackpot, man. You know how excited he got when he realized you were a part of this? You're worth everything to him."

          "Who is 'he'?" Blair asked, already sure of the answer.

          The graduate student blinked at him. "Roger, of course. It's always Roger."

          _Oh, hell. Jim, I could really use some help here, like, real soon now?_ But even if Jim knew something had happened, and Blair was sure that he did, he still had to reach Blair, and the Guide just wasn't too sure Ellison was going to find him in time.

"How did he know about me?" Blair asked, deciding that admitting his place in this conversation wasn't going to lose him any points, since Roger obviously knew something about him anyway. But how much, that was the question he needed an answer to.

Alex shrugged. "You were in contact with the scroll."

Blair frowned at him. "No, I wasn't. I didn't touch it."

Alex smiled at him and Blair tried to fold himself into the wall at the inhuman joy of the expression. "You didn't have to, man. You left your breath with me."

The voice ended slightly deeper and Blair shivered. He had fought many entities in his work with Jim, but he knew he'd never faced anything like this. Even when he and Jim had built the trap for the Devourer as he had taken to calling the entity after they'd managed to trap it again, and even then he'd never felt completely out of his depth. For one thing, he'd always had Jim beside him ( _Jim? I could really use some help here, man, like now. Right now._ ), and the Legacy had been helping him, although he hadn't known it at the time. [1]

But now, he stood alone, prisoner of a madman, Jim was unavailable and absent, and the Legacy was far away.

"And now, I think the time has come for me to make an end of this," the thing possessing Alex said, and the grad student leaned over Blair, a syringe filled with a clear liquid suddenly in its hand.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Jim had just reached the truck when he felt the swoop of blackness drop between himself and his Guide, and he staggered, almost falling. Catching his balance, he plunged forward, grabbing the door handle and jerking it open to throw himself inside. Not bothering with the seatbelt, he wrenched the vehicle into reverse, gravel spraying as he swung it around. He caught a glimpse of Sean standing on the porch, watching him leave.

The drive was a blur of speed, dark streets, the flashing police light from above him and the sound of the siren blaring, although he didn't remember turning it on, or putting the light on his hood. All he could feel was Blair – or rather the painful absence in his gut where his partner had been.

But Jim knew where Sandburg was. How, he couldn't guess when everything else between them was missing, but he _knew_ , and he didn't doubt that knowledge. And so he swung the truck into the parking lot across from the Anthropology building at Rainier, the same one, in fact, that he'd parked in those long years before when he'd come here to talk to a "neo-hippy, witchdoctor, punk."

_Please, God, let me be in time._

He bolted from the truck, only pausing long enough to grab the epi-pin from the glove compartment, then broke into a dead run toward the building.

He could feel Blair's rising fear as he plunged through the outside door, even through the black curtain still hung between them. Whatever his Guide was afraid of was almost upon him.

But Jim was close, so close.

He turned left, then right into another corridor, then threw himself through the door, the crash as it hit the wall making both of those within look up.

Blair lay against the far wall, a young blond man crouching over him. But even as his Guide looked up, eyes wide with glad relief, the man plunged the syringe he held into the shaman's neck and depressed the plunger.

The Sentinel raced forward, Blair's gaze meeting his, a shadowed, desperate fear in them, and then he slumped, unconscious.

"No!" Jim roared, catching the blond with a furious fist as he stood, smiling. The blow threw Alex into the wall with a powerful force, and Ellison dropped beside Blair, not sparing a glance for his downed foe as he struggled to open the epi-pen.

Pressing it against Blair's thigh, Jim lifted his thumb to inject his friend, then lurched forward, dropping the instrument as pain exploded in his head. Little stars danced around the edges of his vision and he forced himself to roll. Glass shattered as he moved, and he felt the spray of shards strike, but he kept his eyes closed.

Back on his feet again, he opened his eyes. The blond stood, smiling at him, a swift bruise rising on his left cheek.

Jim growled, lunging forward, panther-swift.

The young man dodged, but Jim had anticipated the move, and Alex hit the wall beside Blair and slid down, eyes closed, a small trickle of blood icing its way down his face.

And the black curtain separating the Sentinel from his Guide tattered into shreds and fell away.

Jim swayed with the impact, then dropped beside Blair again, grabbing the epi-pen and injecting Sandburg in one swift move.

Nothing happened.

Ellison wasn't sure what he'd expected, but when five minutes passed and Blair still hadn't stirred, the driving fear returned.

_I can't be too late. I won't be. I won't._

Without really thinking about it, he placed a hand against his partner's forehead and closed his eyes. Ordinarily, touch heightened the bond between them, making it easier to pick up his friend's thoughts and feelings, but this time, all he could pick up was a distant sense of struggle, as if he stood outside a soundproofed building in which a domestic dispute was going on.

 _Damn it!_ he thought, opening his eyes and staring down at the younger man, helpless fury roiling his guts. _If he's fighting Roger how do I find him?_

There was no sense of direction to that awareness of struggle, and Jim gnawed his lip, caught in a rare surge of uncertainty.

 _Bring him home_.

He heard Maggie's voice as if she were standing right beside him, as he often heard his Guide's, and he paused only to whip out his knife and cut through Sandburg's bonds before scooping him up and rising to his feet, turning toward the door without a glance at the other young man lying crumbled against the wall.

Now it was a race back to the House, he knew, and he could only pray that his friend could hold on that long.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Jim could feel the power radiating outward from the House as he pulled into the driveway, cutting off the siren and lights as he slammed the vehicle to a halt in the same spot he'd pulled out from.

Scrambling out, he dashed around the truck and yanked open the passenger door, leaning in to scoop up the limp body of the friend who hadn't moved once all the way back. Hefting Blair in his arms, Ellison jogged toward the house, climbing the stairs quickly.

Once inside, he turned right, knowing instinctively where he was going, then, a few doors farther on, he turned left, finding himself in a large room. A large circle had been drawn on the floor, complete except for one section. The others of the House stood at various points around the circle, waiting.

Without hesitating Jim stepped forward, changing his path to enter through the gap in the circle, careful to not to smudge the drawn line that he knew from experience with Blair marked the boundaries of power.

Inside the circle sat a large beanbag, and he reached it and hesitated, then followed the tug in his heart and soul and simply seated himself in it, positioning Blair so the younger man was cradled against his chest. The Sentinel folded his arms around his Guide and glanced around at the others, knowing they had to act next.

Maggie stood directly in front of him, at what he somehow knew to be one of the four cardinal points, while Sean stood to his left. CJ was on his right, and had just finished drawing the closure to the circle, and John was out of sight behind Ellison, although the Sentinel could hear him. CJ stood, and even though he wasn't a shaman, Jim felt the circle close behind her.

Maggie looked across at the Sentinel, and he saw again her resemblance to Simon. This was the precept of the House, and he nodded to her, acknowledging his readiness to follow her lead in this, her place.

She nodded back to him and then glanced around the circle. CJ looked calm and ready, while Sean appeared sullen. Briefly Jim considered what he would do to the young man if he inhibited Blair's rescue, then he forcibly pushed the image aside, remembering his Guide's long ago warning on the subject. _You can't bring fierce emotion into a circle and expect to get any work done, Jim_ , he'd admonished once. _Love, affection, even desire, yes, but not anger or hatred or anything like them._

Well, it wouldn't be Jim who let his emotions get in the way on this rescue attempt, he was determined on that, so he looked back at Maggie, seeing the small approving nod she gave him before she spoke.

"The circle is closed," she said clearly, "and we stand between the worlds, ready to save one of our own." Tendrils of mist curled up from the floor outside the circle, and the room became hazy outside its circumference.

Jim blinked, then shrugged off his own unease with the eerieness around him. He didn't have time – _Blair_ didn't have time – for him to have a problem. But he was surprised, even in the midst of his own tension, to hear her use the same words that he'd heard from Blair when they'd engaged in this kind of ritual.

"We seek the place of Blair Sandburg, the place where one bound to him may find and aid him," Maggie continued and, without knowing why, Jim turned his left hand palm up, reaching to do the same to Blair's. The thin lines of mirrored scars shone silver in the soft light.

The silver-haired precept nodded.

And everything shivered, shimmered, and fell apart.

They were in the room again, light harsh on them, and outside the penciled line of the circle the air was clear, no haze at all.

Jim bent his head against his knees, tears pricking behind his eyelids. He knew enough about rituals, had engaged in enough of them by now to know a rupture when he felt one. For one moment he'd almost had a direction to follow, knew which way to go to find his friend, and to have that almost-certainty taken from him in the same instant in which he'd found it was agonizing, particularly when he could tell that Blair was nearing the end of his strength. That he'd managed to hold on this long was incredible, but any grace period that the epinephrine might have given him was almost over, and then…

Anger bubbled through him and he raised his head with a jerk.

"…this is your life, Sean." Maggie stood in front of the young man and the sternness of her voice made even Jim pause. "The Legacy is about teamwork and trust. Now is your time to choose."

Sean looked up at her, the ever-present sullenness strong in his eyes, and Jim started to release Blair, ready to climb to his feet and face the fight he felt in the younger man.

Maggie held up her hand to him without looking around and Jim hesitated, gritted his teeth, and settled back, gripping Blair a little harder.

"Choose, Sean," Maggie commanded. "Either act as a teammate and a Legacy member, now, or leave the Legacy forever. Choose, and be quick about it, boy."

Sean frowned, his fists clenching at his sides. Even without Blair's ability to read people, Jim knew that he was seeing a soul-deep struggle. Whatever Sean's issues with Blair and himself, they weren't small. But Sean's love of the Legacy ran deep, too, and he took a long breath and nodded. "I choose the Legacy," he whispered hotly.

"Good. The team would be less without you. And all of us, Blair and Jim in particular, need you." She turned and stepped back to her place in the circle, then glanced around at all of them. "The circle is closed, and we stand between the worlds…"

She quickly led them through the ritual again, until it was thick fog outside the circle and Jim could hear/feel/sense that connection with his Guide again. He cocked his head, turning to look.

"As we wish, so will it be," Maggie proclaimed and clapped her hands once.

Jim could swear that he heard an echo of the sound, as if where they were now was a place very far removed from the fog-clouded room he had entered earlier. And, looking around, he swallowed hard. He was standing now, the circle glimmering blue around him, while outside its parameters was thick darkness. He had no sense of evil or shadow; this was simply a place that was, literally, "between the worlds." And he was alone, no sign of the others, or of Blair's body.

He remembered Blair telling him once that he and Jim perceived the ritual world very differently, but that their visions were no less real for that. This, Ellison knew, was _his_ perception of what was happening, and it was likely that the others each saw something else.

He shook himself. It didn't matter. Blair was out there and he had to go find him and bring him back. He strode forward, following the sense of Blair like an unbreakable gold chain between them, the links fine but strong. Around him, the circle glimmered, shifting with him.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Sean yelped, unable to stifle the startled reaction as something picked him up and flung him forward. The space was dark around him, although he could sense the circle surrounding them all. Ahead of him two enormous doors stood half open, and as he sped through them, he caught a glimpse of John and CJ, one on either side, their combined strength holding the portal ajar.

And then he was through them, darkness whizzing past him. He spared a moment to hope that there was nothing solid in his path, given the speed at which he was flying. He could feel Maggie all around him and somehow knew that she was holding something or someone at bay, protecting them all from… Roger?

Cold fear raced through him as he realized where he was. The ritual had delivered them to Roger's space, and while John and CJ held the portal open, Maggie was holding off Roger. Jim was somewhere in this space as well, searching for his Guide. And he himself was speeding toward Blair.

 _Why?_ he shouted silently at an uncaring universe, helpless to stop his headlong progress. _Damn it, why me? Why not Jim, for crying out loud? Blair's his Guide! Hell, I don't even like him!_

The universe didn't care, wasn't listening, and flung him onwards.

_Thud!_

"Ouch!"

"Hey!"

Sean sat up, rubbing the skinned elbow that had resulted from falling a few feet onto what looked and felt like an empty sidewalk. Blair stood above him, staring down at him.

"What're you doing here?" Sandburg asked, surprise vivid in his voice.

"Beats the hell out of me," Sean said, finding his feet. "I thought it'd be Jim who'd be here." He frowned, studying his companion. "Hey," he said uneasily, "are you okay? You look terrible."

Blair shrugged, wiping the blood off his face with his arm. The move did nothing to help the trickle that oozed down his cheek, or the cut across his temple that welled new liquid once he'd removed the old. The smears on his forearm showed that this wasn't the first time he'd tried that method. "I'm fine," he said, but even Sean could hear the determined force to his voice. "What about Jim? Is he here?"

The eagerness in Blair's voice was unfeigned, and Sean swallowed, something in him twisting. "Yeah, somewhere," he said, looking down Blair's body. The anthropologist wore shorts and a tattered T-shirt. Bruises spotted his legs and thighs, fierce red welts curling around them as well. Sean swallowed, wondering if the scratches he could see under the shirt's ragged edges were claw marks. Were these the effects of the shaman's fight with Roger?

That thought brought him back to the moment, and he glanced around. "Where's Roger?"

"Don't know," Blair answered, resting a hand on the wrought-iron fence that sided the sidewalk. "Something distracted him and he dumped me here. Said he'd be back to collect me when he was through."

"I bet that was Maggie," Sean mused, refusing to consider the entity's promise. He explained about the ritual when Sandburg looked at him.

"Hmm," Blair said at the end of the story. "So Jim's out here somewhere?"

Again the note of hopeful trust was strong in Sandburg's voice, and Sean looked away. "Should be," he answered. "Don't know why I'm here," he muttered under his breath.

Blair shrugged. "Roger said there was a way out of this place – if I was smart enough to find it. Want to help me look? Sure beats just standing here."

 _Waiting for him to come back_. The unspoken thought hummed in Sean's mind and he swallowed, glancing anxiously around.

Ahead of them the sidewalk met a set of stairs and Sean blinked as he looked up, and up, and up, realizing that the steps ended far above them at a building that looked suspiciously like a temple. Off to his left another path met the sidewalk, winding in among what looked like a set of glass walls and marble statues, while on his right the wrought-iron fence edged an outlook over a downward slope. Terraces and rock outcrops were visible as he stared downward at a drop that had to be several hundred feet. Turning, he looked behind him, finding the sidewalk curved into a stairway that climbed a small hill, but even as he looked at it the walk and hill shimmered, changing to a winding gravel path that led down into what was clearly a maze of glass. Babylonian symbols appeared across the walls, faded, then reappeared, fading again within seconds.

Sean looked away, blinking, and Blair nodded. "It all changes, except for the path leading up there," he commented, waving at the stairway forging its way upward. The move made his balance shift and he grasped the railing tighter, only to stagger as the fence suddenly vanished.

Sean dived forward, grabbing the anthropologist as he wavered, frantically trying to catch his balance. The impact took both of them to the ground and Blair couldn't restrain a tearing gasp as he hit.

"Ah, man," Sean swore, feeling Blair shaking under him. "I'm sorry!" He scrambled backward, moving as carefully as he could, not wondering why the man's pain suddenly mattered so much to him.

"'S all right," Blair said tightly, sitting up. "'S better than going down that hill headfirst. Thanks." He took a careful breath, then maneuvered to his feet, accepting Sean's hand when it was offered. "Come on, we'd better get moving."

Standing, Sean glanced around, swallowing as the alien-ness of the landscape struck him. Even as he watched, the drop on his right shifted, morphing into a large lake whose waves lapped at their feet. He backed away, fighting panic. "What– What can we do? He's gonna come back, and– and–"

"Stop it!" Blair shouted, but Sean just stared at him, fear and horror quaking through him. What would happen when Roger returned didn't bear thinking about, particularly since Sean knew the details of that event better than almost anyone. But before, it had been theory, a duty of translation, nothing that could happen to him. Now–

"Stop it!" Blair gritted, stepping forward and grabbing his shoulders. "Don't you understand? Fear is Roger's weapon of choice, and you're giving it to him!"

The words penetrated the creeping horror that gripped the younger man and Sean took a shallow breath.

"Breathe, damn it," the shaman ordered, not loosening his grip. "Come on, Sean, breathe!"

The hands on his shoulders were firm and Sean dragged in a deep breath, then another, feeling the band of panic around his ribs loosen. "Okay," he husked, "I've got it."

Blair nodded. "Let's go." Turning, he limped down the sidewalk toward the glass maze which now sported a number of streams running through it, but otherwise looked the same.

Following him, Sean beat back the shame that rushed over him. How did Blair do it? Why wasn't _he_ afraid? He wasn't _that_ much older than Sean. Was it because he'd been through so much, so many times, that he just didn't feel it any more? Or was Sean that much of a coward?

Ahead of him Blair stumbled, then caught himself. Sean looked past him, absently reading the symbols that flashed on the walls of the maze, then blinked as they faded out. He didn't hesitate, catching up with Blair and yanking him backward. Blair yelped as he landed on top of Sean, rolling off to turn on him.

The ground ahead of them shifted again, transforming from a solid surface to ridges and ditches, all set amongst the glass maze. The spot where Blair had been standing now gaped open to a depth of six or seven feet, and the anthropologist closed his mouth on the obviously angry words he'd been about to use.

"How'd you know?" he asked instead, and Sean, sprawled a couple of feet behind him, stared at him, stunned by the respectful tone.

"Uh," he answered, then managed to rally. "I, uh, I read the symbols."

Blair's eyebrows rose. "They're warnings?"

Sean glanced past him as the symbols flickered into being again, then shrugged. "No. To tell the truth, a lot of them don't seem to make any sense, just that one."

"Hmm," Blair said, starting to push himself up again. Sean saw the shadow of pain cross his face and scrambled to his feet, offering a hand. Blair accepted it, loosing his grip once he was standing, and turning to glance ahead of them. "Well, thanks. Again. It might be a good idea if you kept an eye on those symbols, then."

Sean swallowed, sharply aware of the camaraderie that went with the request. _Teammate_. "Sure," he answered lowly.

It took them what felt like hours to find their way through the maze, even though Sean suspected that it probably wasn't more than thirty minutes, if that. But even that was far too long when every sound made them jump and look over their shoulders, waiting for Roger to break through Maggie's shielding and take them both. Sean was able to give warning twice more about symbol-foretold changes, although, thankfully, neither of them were as deadly as the first one could have been. Blair on the other hand seemed to have a real knack for finding his way through mazes, and more than once dragged them out of a dead end before they got totally lost.

"How do you do that?" Sean asked at last, watching Blair study the walls around them and back them out of what looked like a clear passageway. He had resisted his command once, and they'd both paid for it by a frustrating series of twists and turns that eventually led them right back to where they'd started.

Blair grinned. "When I was fourteen Naomi was traveling with a circus troupe and I learned a lot from the guy who put up the mazes at each stop. Gave me a whole new understanding of geometry when I got back to school. He taught me how to 'read' the maze and avoid most of the red herrings."

"Sounds like fun," Sean said, a flash of his old jealousy surfacing for a moment before he forced it down. "That must've played hell with your schooling, though," he said hesitantly.

"Oh, yeah," Blair said as he led them into another corridor. "But hey, they stopped at towns on a regular circuit throughout the year and I went to school at every town, along with the rest of the circus kids. It was a cool way to see the region."

 _I just bet it was_ , Sean thought, remembering how kids in his school had treated those who hadn't fit in, himself included. Circus kids would've been outcast at each school, and would have always left just about the time they would've started fitting in.

He started to say something to that effect, when Blair gave a low whoop and hurried forward, Sean at his heels. One more turn and, suddenly, they were outside the maze. Green hills rolled away into the distance and Sean knew, without knowing how, that this was a whole new area in Roger's space, one which was under a whole lot less of his control.

"Yes!" the linguist hissed as he caught up with Sandburg, who tossed him an exuberant grin that Sean couldn't help but return.

"All right!" Blair exclaimed. "Now we're talkin'!"

"Hey," Sean said, squinting into the distance. "Isn't that–?"

"Jim!"

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Jim whirled, saw Blair, and ran, sweeping him into a fierce hug when he reached him. Blair's grip was just as strong, although Ellison felt him wince as the Sentinel's arms closed around him, and Jim loosed him quickly.

          "Damn, I'm glad to see you," Blair muttered as the detective checked him over with experienced thoroughness.

          "Me, too, Chief," Jim said fervently, frowning over his friend's injuries. "Let's get these bound up," he added, starting to extract bandages from his pocket.

          Blair shook his head, holding out a hand. "No, man, we've got to get out of here, ASAP. Besides, Sean–" He paused, glancing around. "Oh, no. No! Where's Sean?" He started to scramble to his feet, but Jim put a hand on his shoulder and held him down.

          "Forget it, Sandburg. You're not moving until I'm done with this."

"Come on, man, you don't understand! Sean was here, he was right behind me!"

"And he's not here now," Ellison finished, efficiently wrapping bandages around his younger friend's injuries. "He's probably just fine; don't worry about him. Besides," he added as Blair shook his head, "what could've happened to him without you knowing about it, if he was right behind you? Come on, Chief, we've got to go – _now_." He tugged Blair to his feet, urging him forward when the shaman pulled back.

"But Sean–"

Jim sighed, the sense of urgency almost making him snap. "Sandburg, I would've heard it if something had happened to him; I heard you say my name. And I'm telling you nothing happened to him. Now, come on."

Blair hesitated, but slowly nodded. "All right, but I'm telling you if something happened to him, I'm coming back."

"I don't doubt it," Jim said dryly. "But for now, let's move. Maggie can't do whatever she's doing forever."

They started across the landscape, by silent consent agreeing to aim for the only landmark they could see, a dark line topping the nearby hills.

"How long were you out here, anyway?" Blair asked as he limped quickly beside Jim. "It took us a while to work our way through the maze, sorry."

Ellison threw him a glance. "What maze, Sandburg? And what're you talking about? I got here just a few moments before I heard you."

"Uh," Blair said intelligently, "never mind, relative experience."

Jim looked at him, then away, deciding not to pursue it. They ran.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

They were closer to the landmark now and could identify it as an enormous wall, stretching across the hills as far as they could see.

"Hey," the shaman said, pointing, "it's got holes in it."

Ellison frowned as they approached. "Strange kind of wall." Reaching the top of the hill, he spun, his Sentinel gaze taking in the chain of hills all around them. "It runs all around us, one huge circle."

"Hmm," Blair said thoughtfully, studying the wall. It was stone and the holes in it varied from very small to almost two feet wide. The sky was blue overhead, sunlight strong on their shoulders, but there was only darkness showing through the holes. "This isn't a typical wall."

"Oh, you think?" Jim asked sarcastically. "Considering where we are, I think that's a brilliant guess, Sandburg."

Blair turned a narrow-eyed gaze on him and Jim flushed, looking away. "Sorry, Chief. It's been a long week."

"Yeah," Blair agreed neutrally. "It has been."

Jim dropped his gaze. "Look, can we talk about this when we get out of here?"

"Yeah," his Guide said, still with the tinge of neutrality to his tone that Jim had long since realized he hated.

Ellison swallowed, turning his attention to the wall, studying the holes thoughtfully. "Hmm, I wonder what would happen if…?" He trailed off as he reached forward to touch light fingertips to one of the large holes. The hole snapped shut, another, smaller one expanding in a rush and Jim jerked his fingers back, the tips stinging.

"Did it get you?" Blair was beside him, reaching for his hand, his touch soothing the smart even as he examined the unbroken skin.

"No, not really," Ellison said thoughtfully, pulling his hand away from Blair's ministrations and rubbing it on his pants. "I'm not sure what just happened here."

Blair frowned, studying the wall. "I think… I think the holes offer openings to the outside, chances to escape. Don't touch another one!" he warned, catching Ellison's hand as the detective reached for a second hole. "If you touch it, it closes, and we don't know if it's the right one or the wrong one. We might not get a second chance. We have to pick the right one the first time."

"And how're we going to do that?" Jim queried, trying not to snap. The fear that Roger would turn up any minute was growing, and he had a feeling it was because Maggie was weakening. "How can we tell if it's the right one, or climb through it, if it closes before it can be used?"

"Heh," Blair said thoughtfully. Jim recognized his expression and was silent, allowing his partner to do what he did so well – think on his feet.

"Okay," the anthropologist said after a minute, "I think I understand, but you're not going to like it."

Jim looked at him. "Go on."

"You'll have to look through the holes with your senses, ID which one is the right one, and then we both have to touch it. I think it doesn't like your touching it because you weren't brought here by Roger, so it's not 'keyed' to you, so to speak. But if I touch it first, then you, I think it'll let us both out without closing. That make any sense?"

"No," Ellison answered, glancing nervously behind them. "What do you mean, 'look through them with my senses'? What's wrong with our eyes?" The land around them was seemingly empty, but he knew it was an illusion.

And Roger was coming; the only question was how soon.

Blair shook his head patiently, a certain tension to his shoulders that told the Sentinel that he felt the danger, too. "It has to be your senses, because we can't see through the holes. There's only darkness on the other side. You'll know it's the right one because–"

A wolf howl broke out beside them, the eerie echo rolling across the hills.

They both jumped and Jim shook his head. "Your, uh, spirit animal sure does know how to announce itself, Chief."

Blair shook his head, a startled, wondering grin tugging at his lips. "That's not my spirit animal, Jim. That's– That's my dad!"

Jim jerked his gaze from the wall, focusing on Blair. "It is?"

Blair nodded, a quick joy in his eyes. "Yeah, it is."

The wolf howled again and the shaman cocked his head, the move so wolf-like that Ellison half-expected the younger man to shift himself.

"Come on," Blair snapped, starting to trot along the wall. "He can show us where the right one is. And you can keep track of him by looking through the holes. Piggyback your sight onto your hearing, Jim."

"I hate that," the Sentinel muttered lowly, but he caught up with his friend and slipped an arm around Blair's shoulders, taking a little of his weight. He could tell just how bad it must be by the fact that Blair didn't complain about the move, and he grimaced. Then he reached out with his hearing focusing on the next howl, forcing his sight to follow.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

It couldn't have been more than a few minutes, but it felt much longer before the wolf howled again, then barked twice.

"It's here," Blair gasped, stumbling toward the wall. "Jim, look through the holes; can you tell which one is ours?"

Jim glanced along the wall, eying the seven holes in this section somewhat dubiously, then he blinked as his gaze was caught by a glimmer of blue. He took a step closer, peering into the opening without touching it. His field of view widened, and he smiled as he looked into the room at the Legacy House, the other three figures still in their places and the circle still fiery blue.

"This one," he called, waving at it and turning back to his partner. "Blair?"

Sandburg stood shock still, his gaze fixed but unfocused, a haunted look of fear settling across his features. He turned to face back the way they'd come and Jim knew with a sudden drop in his stomach that Roger was coming.

More, Roger had drawn Blair back into his net, just that easily, and the Sentinel swallowed, his jaw bunching. _Damn that ketamine_ , he thought fiercely. It had opened Blair to the entity and now he couldn't resist.

"No!" Jim's angry protest and the wolf's howl came at the same moment, and Ellison saw his friend shudder. "No!" he said again, anger boiling up. "You're mine, Sandburg, and I'm not letting you go that easily!"

He grabbed Blair and threw him toward the opening he knew led home to safety.

Blair hit the wall and slid down, making no attempt to reach for the hole. The frozen horror on his face deepened and Jim snarled, a sound echoed from the other side of the wall.

Bending, Jim heaved Blair to his feet, then forced him to touch the side of the hole, which quickly enlarged.

An angry scream echoed behind him, but he didn't look back, tossing Blair through the hole and scrambling through it himself afterwards. "Fuck you, Roger!" he called.

And the floor came up and caught them.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"…and I guess I was just… jealous."

Jim halted before turning the corner into Blair's bedroom, watching the interaction inside by the reflection in the window, darkened by early evening.

"Stupid move," Sean added, shrugging and looking anywhere but at the anthropologist, who studied him for a moment from his pillow-backed position in the bed, then reached to touch his wrist.

"Hey," Blair said matter-of-factly, "it makes sense to me. I was new to the Legacy, and I come with a built-in authority figure beside me. It must've felt like a threat."

Sean hunched one shoulder, studying his shoe intently. Jim saw Blair smile a little.

"But you know what?" the shaman said easily. "It doesn't matter, because we're not competing, Sean, we're teammates, right? You've got skills I don't, and I have skills you don't, and working together out there in Roger's space showed us that we do pretty well when we put them to work together. Don't you think?"

Perhaps only Jim would've been able to hear the slight shakiness underlying Roger's name, and he grimaced.

Sean glanced up at Sandburg and nodded. "Yeah, I think. Thanks." He stood, looking down at the anthropologist. "I just wanted you to know I don't feel that way anymore. Welcome to the Legacy, Blair." He held out a hand, and Sandburg shook it, swallowing.

"Thanks, Sean," he said huskily. "That means a lot to me. And it'll be kind of cool to have someone close to my age here, too."

Sean looked surprised, then grinned. "Guess we'll just have to shake up these old guys, huh?"

"You got it!" Blair enthused, sitting up straighter. "Maybe we can–"

"Go to bed," Jim suggested as he stepped through the door. He paced over to the two of them, trying not to smile at the somewhat frozen look on Sean's face. Evidently dealing with Blair didn't mean the younger man was ready to deal with his Sentinel.

Blair cast a lightning-swift glance at Sean, reading his reaction without a problem, then pouted at Ellison. "I'm not tired, Jim. Honest. It's not like I can do anything strenuous here, after all."

"Uh-huh," Jim said, unconvinced. He made a show of checking his watch. "You've been up since yesterday morning at five, Sandburg. It's now two a.m., and between those two times you've been assaulted, chloroformed, and hiked your way through a maze, not to mention running all over the landscape." He was careful not to mention Roger and knew by Sean's sharp glance that he'd noticed the omission. "Only you could still be awake by this time. So, go to sleep, already."

Ignoring Blair's narrow-eyed stare, he turned to Sean, meeting the younger man's eyes. "You were there for him in that maze. I won't forget that. Thanks."

"Uh, you're welcome," Sean stuttered, a faint brush of red touching his cheeks. He rallied long enough to glance at Blair. "Guess I'll see you tomorrow then."

Blair's smile was bright. "Sure will!" Sean left hastily and the Guide turned his gaze back to his friend. "You're scaring him," he accused. "And you're enjoying it, too."

Jim shrugged, seating himself in the chair Sean had been using. "It's not my fault he reacts badly to authority figures, especially ones that come attached to you."

Sandburg rolled his eyes. "I don't need authority figures either."

Jim's eyebrows hiked. "Since when have I been one to you? It's not like you pay attention to what I say anyway."

Blair stuck his tongue out at him.

"I'll ignore that," Ellison said dryly, "on the grounds you can't do anything to defend yourself right now if I decide to take it out of your hide." He studied his friend for a long moment, then added, "You want to talk about it?"

Blair's gaze dropped and he shrugged.

Jim leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms. "I've got all night."

Sandburg huffed, trying to work up a glare at the man, which Ellison met steadily. "Come on, Chief. You didn't honestly think you could keep this kind of thing from me, did you? Your mind's running around Roger like he's a perp we're bringing down. So what gives? Whatever it is," he added, "you're not doing it alone."

Blair sighed. "Why do you have to do this? Read me this well," he added at Jim's raised eyebrow.

The detective shrugged. "It's my job, remember? That's what Sentinels do to their Guides, and vice versa. So you tell me. So, talk."

The anthropologist grimaced, hesitating for a long moment, then he shrugged. "All right, when I was… going to Roger, I passed by a long line of people before I reached him. There were a lot of them – young, old, men, women; I even saw some children."

"What about them?" Jim asked when the younger man didn't continue, fighting back a sinking feeling in his stomach.

Blair looked at him. "They're Roger's."

Ellison swallowed, his jaw bunching. "You mean he owns them." It wasn't quite a question, but the shaman nodded.

The Sentinel sighed. "And you want to free them."

Another nod.

Jim closed his eyes and brought his hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, abruptly feeling very old. "Chief, they're dead."

"They're enslaved, Jim."

Ellison opened his eyes to see Blair staring at him.

"They're enslaved, Jim," he repeated. "Can you imagine what that means? They're his, and there's no telling how long they've been there. They loved someone deeply enough to be trapped by him and now they're his, for eternity. Do you know how long eternity is?" He glanced away. "I came awfully close to that, Jim. I can't just leave them there and forget them."

He looked up at Ellison, his eyes dark and serious. "And don't tell me this isn't my business. It is." He paused. "This I can do something about. And I'm going to."

The detective sighed, leaning forward to stare at his friend. "All right. I'll go on record here as saying that I don't like it, but I know I'm not going to convince you otherwise, and I told you before, you're not going to do this kind of thing alone. I'm with you, all the way."

"As is the Legacy." Maggie walked forward to stand by the bed, smiling at them both.

Blair cast a surprised glance at Jim, who shrugged, flushing.

Maggie's smile widened a little. "If the Sentinel feels safe enough that he doesn't notice the approach of a Legacy precept when he's in deep conversation with his Guide, I'll consider that a compliment." She turned her gaze on Blair, sobering. "And as for your self-assigned task, this House is with you, Blair. You can't do it alone. Roger is far too strong for that. We will have to create a new strategy; we can't repeat what we did to pull you back to us a second time."

The color was high in his cheeks, but the anthropologist's gaze was steady. "Why? What did you do? The circle I understand, and what the others did, but you– How did you hold him off?"

Maggie's lips lifted in a grave smile. "I've died before, Blair. I know what waits for me there, and who, and there's nothing Roger could offer me that I don't know I will have again. The act of accepting what he offers constitutes the beginning of someone's enslavement. They are pushed to accept, and most people can't resist his command to accept, but I have the Sight as well, and I could see him for what he is." She looked at him soberly. "You could see him, too, but you lost someone you loved very much, and you would give a great deal for his return."[1]

Blair blushed, his gaze dropping, and Jim squeezed his shoulder. A whine echoed through the room and a black wolf leaped up onto the bed, licking Blair furiously, then turning around and lying down next to him, panting happily. Jim rolled his eyes, and the shaman grinned.

Maggie's lips quirked. "That was the trigger for you, but the epinephrine that Jim gave you enabled you to resist until we could set up the circle." She studied them both for a long moment and added quietly, "There was more to this than it might seem, though. Roger wanted Jim even more than he wanted you, Blair, and that made him reckless."

Both men stared at her. "He wanted me?" Ellison asked dubiously. "Why?"

The precept shook her head, frowning at him. "Jim," she said reprovingly, "you're a Sentinel, and he valued that even more than a shaman. Roger wanted Blair because he was your Guide, the key to you. Blair himself was a nice bonus, but it was his connection to you that made him irresistible."

"Hmm," Sandburg mused. "Maybe we can use that against him to free the others."

Jim stared at him. "Sandburg, that makes it even more impossible to do anything! I'm not risking you out there as bait! The answer's no. You hear me?"

Blair looked up at him and their eyes met and held, neither noticing when Maggie smiled and stepped quietly out of the room.

          "All right!" Ellison finally exploded. "Damn it, Sandburg–"

          "Come on, big guy," Blair said, grinning, "you know you can't say no to me. And admit it, you'd like to take Roger down, too. He's like a really big fish in the metaphysical crime pond, and you're a cop, through and through. This is no different."

          Jim tried to glare at him, but his gaze fell before his partner's sober look. "All right," he repeated, "but no trips to explore or to check him out, Sandburg. No scouting. I mean it. This is Legacy work, and that's how we're going to do it."

          "Sure, Jim," Blair agreed, his eyes twinkling, "whatever you say. No problem."

          Ellison sighed, then reverted to the earlier conversation he'd overheard. "So, what's with the kid?" he asked, leaning back and crossing his legs. "With Sean," he added impatiently when the anthropologist stared at him blankly.

          Blair's lips quirked and he shrugged. "You heard most of it. He just got used to being the center of attention in the House where he grew up, I think. He's brilliant, and he thought I might take his place."

"Could you?" Jim asked quietly.

"No way, man!" Blair denied, shaking his head. "I'm an anthropologist, not a linguist. Yeah, I know a little, but not like he does."

"You're brilliant, too," Jim commented, steadily meeting the surprised glance that turned to him. "Hell, Sandburg, that's how someone who starts college at sixteen is generally considered, you know."

Blair shrugged. "I guess. I never thought of myself that way. Anyway, I think he'll be okay with me now."

"Probably," Ellison agreed, chuckling softly. "Especially when the first thing you said when you woke up was that Sean was still back there and we had to go get him. I told you he was safe," he added.

"Hey, man," the anthropologist protested, "how was I supposed to know it was the truth? I know you'd never leave him out there willingly, but still, I didn't figure you cared about him like I did. We're part of a team, after all." He eyed Jim, and the Sentinel smiled faintly.

"Yeah, I know you are," he said quietly. Blair blinked at him and Jim's lips quirked slightly as he leaned forward, holding the younger man's gaze. "I've got it, Chief. You're a member of the Legacy, whatever happens. Okay. I can deal with that. I'll be honest and say I don't like it, but it's the way it is." He paused to take a breath. "And if it means that I have help to keep your ass out of dangerous situations, then I'll do it."

"It doesn't mean I'm any less your partner either, Jim," Blair ventured, an unusual note of uncertainty in his voice. "Or your friend."

Jim smiled at him, leaning back in his chair. "I know that, Sandburg. And that's good, because I'm not going to lose you, even if it means I have to move into this House myself somewhere down the road."

Blair's eyes widened. "You'd do that?"

Ellison sighed. "Maggie talked to me."

"What'd she–? Oh. _That_ talk."

" _That_ talk," Jim agreed soberly, then held up a hand as Blair pulled himself up further in the bed, his eyes sparkling. "Not tonight, Sandburg. I need some time to think about this first. I don't know what I feel about the whole thing, and it's going to take me a while." He paused and added, scowling at the shaman, "And you need to get some sleep. More, I need you to get some sleep."

Blair studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "Okay, I believe that." He tossed the detective a grin and added, "You goin' to watch over me like a Blessed Protector should?"

Underneath the teasing, Jim heard the hopeful, tentative question and smiled. "I'm not going anywhere, Chief."

"Good," Blair muttered under his breath as he scooted down, rearranging his pillow and turning over onto his side, his back to the Sentinel. "You need the light?" he asked sleepily, eyes already closed.

"No," Ellison said quietly, leaning over to flip the lamp off. "Sleep well, Blair," he added as the room plunged into darkness.

"You, too, Jim." The sleepy rejoinder trailed off into peaceful breathing and the Sentinel smiled, stretching out to think.

_  
_ __  


[1] See previous story in timeline: " _Welcome to Your Legacy_ " in _Sensory Overload 7._

[2] _See "Crack in a Box" _  
__

[3] __See the novella _Seize the Moment_._ _

 

The End


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